


Mirror, Mirror

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 81,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Buffy's brought back from the dead...but to where?  <br/>Disclaimer:  Joss Whedon owns all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Through a Dark Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This story is incomplete. It will probably not be finished, as I haven't worked on it in years. Read at your own risk.

"How is she?"

Willow dropped her eyes to her hands then brought them back up. "B-better? It's kinda hard to tell, Giles. She's...I mean, it's like she's going through the motions. She went out last night on patrol and Spike followed her, I don't think she even knew he was there. But he said she went past the mansion on Crawford Street again."

Giles' brow furrowed as he removed his glasses, swinging them by the earpiece as he glanced at the staircase. "It is a rather traumatic experience," he said.

"I know, insert standard lecture here," Willow said apologetically, "and that's really flip but Giles, we needed her. There wasn't a new Slayer called and, hello, Hellmouth? You said so yourself that Faith was the one." She waved her hands around, mentioning that name.

"Yes, yes, I'm aware, Willow. It's just that the magicks you used could have had negative consequences." Giles started polishing his glasses with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket as Willow fidgeted. "I know you think I'm scolding you unnecessarily but you used magicks with complete disregard of what might have happened."

"I didn't," Willow said, rising on the balls of her feet to make her point, then dropping back down. "I just, well, did what I thought was best." She turned her attention to the stairway, with its dark railing, trying to imagine what was going on up there. She reached over, touching Giles' forearm. "She's gonna be all right isn't she, Giles?"

"I certainly hope so. P-perhaps when Riley returns."

Willow nodded sadly. "Maybe."

Giles turned his attention back to her. "Has Buffy...said anything more about," his voice trailed off. "You know."

"Angel?" Willow shrugged self-consciously. "Not since she talked to Cordelia."

"Yes, that was about the time that Buffy, em, well," Giles said, sliding his glasses back on.

"Lost heart?"

"Exactly."

* * *

Buffy paced around the room, her arms folded. She stopped in front of the mirror, staring at herself. Two eyes. Check. Nose. Check. Hair. Check. All her fingers, all her toes, check. She scraped her hair off her face, leaning into the mirror until her forehead touched the glass. So close, her vision blurred the reflection. Everything looked the same but everything was wrong.

A knock sounded at the door but she didn't bother turning around. "Come in." It didn't matter; whoever it was would stand outside the door and knock until she told them to come inside. They were worried about her, all of them, since she returned from the dead. Funny, they weren't the only ones.

"Buffy?"

She flicked her gaze to the mirror, staring behind her. "What do you want, Dawn?"

Dawn shoved her hands into the pockets of her lavender jeans and shrugged. "Just checking in on you. It's my turn," she said confidingly. She dropped onto the bed and bounced, picking up the stuffed cow there and hugging it to her stomach. "Whatcha doing?" she asked, then sighed and rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. Nothing. Same as yesterday and the day before. And the day before that, too." Dawn leaned forward, looking at her in the mirror.

Buffy stared into the reflection of her sister's troubled eyes. "I don't belong here, Dawn," she said softly.

"That's silly. Where else should you be?" Dawn got to her feet and leaned her chin on Buffy's shoulder. She stroked Buffy's hair gently. "You've just had a hard time and those...dreams of yours, they're not helping matters. When Riley gets back, you'll see."

Buffy pulled away from her sister, leaning her back against the wall and folding her arms again, providing a barricade. "When Riley gets back?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah. Didn't Willow tell you? Xander called him. He's getting leave to come home." She hugged herself, grinning. "I promise not to say anything if he sleeps in your room." Dawn suddenly made a face. "Well, if you're quiet. I don't want to hear you boinking all night long. That'd be gross."

"Dawn," Buffy asked wonderingly, "why would I, uh, let Riley in my room?"

"Silly," Dawn said, rolling her eyes in teenage exasperation, "I mean, he is your fiancé."

"My what?" Buffy remembered to shut her mouth after a few seconds, though her head was starting to hurt.

"Well, up until you died, that is. You were supposed to be married last June, remember? But he got called away, some top secret military mission, then you, well," she lifted a shoulder, "you know. But now you're back." She tilted closer to Buffy, as if she was imparting a special secret. "He cried a lot at your funeral."

"My fiancé?" Buffy asked, stricken. "Riley?"

"Yeah. He proposed the day after Mom," Dawn made a face. "You know. It was the only good news...and I tried to raise her from the dead." Her mouth pulled down even farther. "It worked for you, though. You don't think we should try to bring Mom back, too?"

"No. No, Dawn, that's a really, really bad idea," Buffy said, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Don't even think it."

"I know, but sometimes I miss her so much." Dawn ducked her head. "I can't tell you what it's like, having you back," she said.

They stood together quietly for a little longer then Dawn moved towards the door. "I have to go get the table set for dinner," she said. "Everyone's coming." She grinned. "Even Spike."

Buffy leaned her elbows on her knees. "Spike," she said, her voice low.

"Yeah. Willow thought we ought to invite Wesley, you know, but none of us were sure about that. Do you want him? I mean, there's still enough time."

"Wesley." She sifted that name through her memory. It stuck along with Spike's, along with Cordy's, to an important name. The name that no one seemed to know but her.

The name of her first love, her only true love.

Angel.

* * *

"It's so weird," Cordelia was saying, as she walked with Xander up the sidewalk to the Summers' house. "I mean, Buffy, back from the dead. I can't believe Willow pulled it off."

"Well, she did, Cordy," Xander said, knocking on the door and opening it. "Hey-ho! Xan-the-man and faithful sidekick, here!"

Dawn appeared from the dining room like a jack-in-the-box. "Xander! Cordy!" She beamed. "Come in!"

"Are we the first ones here?" Cordelia asked.

"Yeah," Dawn said, nodding.

Cordelia smacked Xander's arm. "See? I told you we'd have time."

"Time for what?" Dawn asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Ah," Xander smiled broadly, "grown-up type stuff. Chips?" He handed a plastic grocery bag to Dawn.

"Oh. Boinking," Dawn said, flouncing off in the direction of the kitchen.

"Sex? Did we say sex? No. No sex was mentioned at all," Xander called after Dawn.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Now she's gonna think we were doing it," she muttered.

"Well it isn't like we haven't before," Xander said, rounding on her.

"Yeah, well, Dawn doesn't need to know about it." Cordelia huffed and followed Dawn into the kitchen, where Willow was checking a chicken in the oven. "Hey, Willow."

"Hey, Cordy," Willow said, grinning. "Bird's about done."

"It smells delicious," Cordelia said.

"Thanks. Dawny helped." Willow closed the oven door and straightened.

"I chose the spices," Dawn said, opening the bag of chips and pouring them into a bowl.

"And tossed the salad," Willow said.

Dawn stuck a chip in the dip to stir it up, and then popped the chip into her mouth, crunching. "Mm. Cordelia, you find the best dips."

Xander entered the room. "Was that a comment about me?"

"Maybe," Dawn said, smiling at him.

"I don't know if I'd call you the best," Cordelia said.

"That's not what you said earlier," Xander reminded her.

"No, no, not in front of Dawn!" Willow clapped her hands over the girl's ears. "Shush, you two!"

"It's his fault," Cordelia said, waving a hand at her boyfriend. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Mine? The Dawnmeister started it. I just took it to its natural conclusion."

Dawn giggled, tugging Willow's hands from her ears. Her smile brightened. "Buffy!"

The others turned, watching as she came into the room. "Hey, Buff," Xander said.

She gave him a hesitant grin. "Hi, Xand. Hi, Cordy. You look...nice."

"Thanks," Cordelia said, a huge smile plastered on her face. "You look good. Better. Better than before."

Buffy shrugged. "I clean up good," she said, without her usual bantering tone. "Oh, chips."

"Want some?" Dawn passed her the bowl and held out the dip container.

She took a chip and loaded some dip onto it, putting it into her mouth. The others watched as she chewed and swallowed. "Starting to feel like a circus freak here, guys," she said, glancing around at them.

"Sorry, Buff," Xander said, looking away. "It's just, weird, you know? Not in a bad way," he hurried to say.

"No, not in a bad way. I mean, it's good you came back, isn't it? Really, really good. Those demons were going to take over Sunnydale." Cordelia's eyes were wide in remembrance.

"And Faith, you know, gone and all," Willow swung a hand out in a directionless manner.

"Where is Faith?" Buffy asked.

"The Watchers took her back to England, remember?" Xander asked gently. "Because she killed that guy? She turned herself in after you chased her to L.A." He tilted his head, frowning at her expression. "Do you remember any of that?"

"W-was Faith in a coma? Did I put her in a coma?" Buffy grabbed the countertop behind her, using it to steady herself.

"Oh, yeah. She tried to poison Oz," Willow said, bouncing in place. "Remember? You, me, Oz and Scott went out on a double date and she attacked us?"

Buffy looked from one of them to the other. "Faith tried to poison Oz?" She shook her head, some of her hair coming loose from its barrette. "That isn't right," she murmured.

"This isn't about that Angel guy again, is it?" Cordelia asked.

Her eyes jerked to Cordelia. "Something's wrong here," Buffy said.

"Hey." A familiar voice broke in and Willow beamed at the newcomer.

"Hey, Oz," she said. She pointed at her boyfriend. "Look, Buffy, Oz. Whom Faith tried to poison outside the Sun Theater."

"Okay," Oz said. "Getting the gist that things are not right in the city of Sunnydale."

"I-what other surprises do you have for me?" Buffy looked ready to run or to fight, Xander wasn't sure which.

"What surprises, Buffy?" Willow asked gently.

"Oz-Oz left Sunnydale, during our freshman year at college." Buffy looked at him, her expression guarded.

"Yeah. To get control of my wolf. But I came back."

"But-but you left again. And Willow," Buffy gestured to the redhead, "Willow and Tara?"

Willow exchanged confused glances with Oz. "I do know a Tara, Buffy. She's in my Wiccan group. She's helped us with some spells and stuff before. Oh, and-and she helped me get the things to bring you back."

"But you're not dating Tara?"

"Dating?" Willow shook her head, her hair swinging. "No, no, no. Not dating a girl." She took Oz's hand and held it up for Buffy to see. "See?"

"Maybe we should talk to Giles, too," Oz said, his usual laconic expression dissolving into a somewhat uneasy one.

"Yeah, G-man might have some ideas." Xander nodded. He wasn't liking how Buffy's face was squinching up, how she kept tugging at her hands. She was making him nervous. "Where is he, anyways?"

"Out in the yard," Dawn said, pulling open the back door. "Giles? We need you." Only the slight tremor in her voice showed her concern for her sister. "Buffy, it'll be okay."

"No." Buffy shook her head abruptly. "There's something wrong." Her hands grasped at the air. "Something majorly wrong."

Giles appeared in the doorway, frowning slightly. "Y-yes?" he asked.

"Buffy's all," Dawn threw a hand at her sister, "weird." She bit her lip.

"B-Buffy?" He peered at his agitated Slayer.

"Giles," she began then stopped, staring at the woman who appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Buffy," Jenny said, "it's so good you're back."

The blood drained from Buffy's face and she wavered. "Catch her!" Xander shouted, leaping for his friend as she slumped towards the floor.

* *

Part 2

Voices.

She could hear voices. They didn't sound quite right, sort of like a radio, before the station was tuned in. And they weren't making sense.

"...hospital?"

"No, I believe she'll be all right. She is under severe stress, but I doubt a doctor could help her. Perhaps a medicine man."

"Was that a joke?" Xander's voice. "Ha, ha."

"Seriously, Rupert. She's, well, from what you and the kids have been telling me, she's been acting strange since she returned." Jenny.

Jenny? Jenny was dead. Should be dead. Buried in the ground, with flowers on her grave that Giles brought every few weeks. Angelus killed her.

"What do you suggest we say to a doctor? Hello, this is a vampire Slayer, brought back from the dead by magic?"

"No need to get snippy, Rupert."

"I wasn't snippy-all right, I was. I'm sorry." She could almost picture Giles pulling his glasses off and toying with them. "But it is a matter of concern to me, as well."

"She didn't remember Oz and me being together, well, not right now. And she didn't remember Faith trying to poison Oz," Willow said.

"She does remember all of us, though and that's gotta be good, right?" Xander asked. "Right?"

"Yes, she does. But it seems her memories are-are different from the actual facts." Giles again.

Buffy opened her eyes. She didn't like lying there, listening to her friends talk about her like that. "That's because they are."

"Buffy. You're awake." Giles sat down on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

She tilted her head to look past him, at Jenny Calendar. The dark-haired woman smiled reassuringly. Buffy couldn't return it. She turned her attention back to Giles. "I feel fine," she said softly. "But I'm not. There's something wrong."

"Yes, I am aware of that, Buffy," Giles said, taking her hand in his. "I-I can only guess at the strain you must feel right now."

"No, you can't." Buffy tugged her hand free, pushing herself up on the bed. She glanced at them all, piling in at the door to stare at her. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the window, the window Angel used to climb into.

"Then perhaps you can tell us," Giles said gently.

She stared at the panes of glass, sighing heavily. How could she explain how wrong things were? "When did I come to Sunnydale?"

"W-when?" Giles asked.

Buffy nodded as Willow piped up, "Our sophomore year. You came in halfway into the year. After the holiday break."

"Did I fight the Master?"

"Yeah. You nearly died. He tried to drown you but I brought you back, with CPR," Xander said, sounding proud of himself.

Buffy fixed him with her gaze. "Who-who brought you to me? How did you find me?"

"I followed Jesse. I didn't know he was a vamp then. When all of them left, I found you."

"That's not how it happened," Buffy said, frowning.

"Hey, I was there," Xander said.

"Shut up, Xander," Cordelia said, elbowing him.

"Ow!"

"Did the party move up here, then?"

"Spike?" Buffy stared as the bleached-blond vampire eeled his way into the room.

"Slayer," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Feeling a little down at the mouth, are we?"

She lunged out of the bed, grabbing Spike by the front of his shirt. "Spike!"

"Hold on, pet. No rough stuff in front of the audience," he said, grinning.

She shoved him back into the wall, cracking his skull against it. "Tell me." Her voice sounded thick and strange to her own ears.

"Bloody hell, Slayer." He rubbed his head. "That hurt!"

"Tell me, Spike, or I swear I'll stake you." Buffy grabbed a stake from her dresser, putting it to his chest.

"Buffy!" Dawn said, starting to move towards her. Xander caught her arms, holding her in place. She struggled but Xander didn't let her go. "What are you doing? Spike's a good guy!"

"Chip and all?" Buffy asked.

He curled his lip at her. "You could ask your nancy boy soldier, when he gets here. He knows all about the chip. So do they." He gestured at the others in the room. "But there ain't no call to be treatin' me this way. I'm on your side, remember?"

"You're on the side where the most money is, Spike," Buffy said tightly. "I know it, you know it."

"Hey, he helped you stop Darla and Drusilla from opening that portal to hell," Xander said.

"Darla?" she asked, trying to place the name.

"Darla. You know, that crazy bint? The Master's right hand? Your dread enemy and all?" Spike asked.

"Spike, I'll ask this once." Buffy pushed the stake into his shirt.

"Careful there, pet," Spike said, swallowing.

"Just once. Darla, Drusilla and you. There was another one. A man. Angelus." At his blank look, she twisted the stake.

Spike winced. "Bloody hell, Slayer-"

"Think, Spike. Angelus. The Scourge of Europe. He sired Drusilla, Drusilla sired you."

He made a show of thinking, his head cocked back, eyes tilted up and rolling back and forth. Finally, he dropped his gaze back to hers. "Sorry. No Angelus. Name doesn't ring any bells. Now do you mind getting that stake out of my chest before you actually hurt me?"

Buffy stepped back jerkily, whirling on Ms. Calendar. "You know," she said.

"Know what, Buffy?" Jenny glanced at Giles for support. He shrugged, as confused as anyone else in the room.

"It was your tribe's curse. He-fed-on one of the girls of your tribe, didn't he? And they cursed him with a soul."

"Spike?" Jenny asked dubiously.

"No, Angel! Angelus!"

"Buffy, I'm sorry," Jenny said, "really I am. But I don't know who you're talking about."

"A vampire. A vampire cursed with a soul. The only one in the world. Angel."

"Vampire with a soul?" Spike laughed out loud. "That's rich, Slayer, that is."

She threw a furious glance at him over her shoulder and turned to Giles. "Don't you have books? Watcher books? Can't we find out? Darla sired Angelus. Angelus sired Drusilla."

"Hold on there, pet," Spike said. "Are you saying I don't know where my ex-sweetie came from?"

"Drusilla sired Spike." She whirled to point at Spike. "You told me that once, yourself. When that vampire stabbed me with a stake."

"Why don't I remember that?" Xander asked, concerned.

"Buffy did tell us about it," Willow reminded him.

"Oh. So, is everyone clear on this Angel guy? Because I don't remember him at all," Xander said.

"You're not the only one," Cordelia said. "Buffy, stop being crazy. Unless, of course, you are, then we need to find you professional help." She sidled towards Giles, her whisper loud enough to be heard by all. "Do the Watchers pay for that sort of thing?"

"Cordy, you work with Angel, in L.A. You left Sunnydale to become an actress or something. You and Wesley and someone named Doyle."

"Wesley returned to Sunnydale, after taking Faith to the Watchers," Giles said. "He didn't remain here; he did go to Los Angeles."

"But I think I'd remember leaving Sunnydale," Cordelia said, though not unpleasantly. "Buffy, maybe this is one of those dream-thingies. Can you dream while you're dead?"

"Yes, that could be it," Giles said, frowning slightly. "A prophetic dream."

"No," Buffy said, feeling lost. "It all happened, I swear, Giles, it did! Angel and Xander found me in the Master's lair. Angel and I started seeing each other. We...he turned evil." She had to swallow at that memory. "He...threatened Willow. He murdered...friends of mine. And with Drusilla and Spike's help, he wanted to bring Hell to Earth."

"Acathla?" Giles asked.

Not trusting her voice, Buffy nodded.

"That was Darla's idea all the way, pet. You sent her to Hell." Spike lounged against her dresser.

"Did-did she come back?" Buffy asked.

"Come back? Come back how?" Spike scoffed. "Maybe as dust, the way you stabbed that sword in her." He mimed a deep thrust. "Scared Dru, it did. She ran and hasn't been back to Sunnydale."

"But you...stuck around?" Buffy asked. "Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"Well, yeah, but I did come back, just in time for Captain Cardboard to put a chip in my head." He tapped his temple.

"You came back, wanting Willow to do a spell to bring Drusilla back to you, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and scared your bloody boyfriend half to death," Spike said, showing all his teeth.

"Angel?" Buffy looked from Spike to the others hopefully.

"Don't know. Some scrawny thing."

"Scott, Buffy. You were dating Scott," Willow said gently.

"Scott?" She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "His friend, didn't he murder someone? Debbie? Was that her name?"

"Yeah," Oz said. "Pete was doing a Jekyll-Hyde thing and it took over. You fought him."

"B-but, Angel was there. He came back from Hell. He's the one who killed Scott's friend."

"Buffy, perhaps you should rest," Giles said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She startled, staring down at it. "B-but...it's all wrong, Giles. Even if we're not together, he should be here." She pressed a hand to her forehead again.

"Do lie down, Buffy. Rest a little longer." Giles steered her to the bed, urging her to get into it. "We'll talk more, later." He shooed the others out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Buffy's face puckered. She didn't know what was going on. Jenny, alive. Oz and Willow still together. Cordy and Xander still together. "I dated Scott?" she whispered to herself. "I'm engaged to Riley?" She huddled on the bed, clasping her pillow tightly. None of this made any sense.

* * *

"None of this is making any sense," Xander said, pacing around the living room.

"Sit down, you're making me dizzy," Cordelia said, irritated. Xander dropped onto the sofa next to her.

"What if it isn't a dream, Giles?" Willow asked.

"What if, what if Buffy's, you know, not right?" She cast a worried glance at Dawn.

"She seems okay to me," Dawn said, "except for this Angel thing."

"Yes, but it does seem a terrible distraction to her," Giles said. "She seems genuinely frightened by the fact that we do not know him."

"She was more than a little surprised to see me," Jenny said.

"I-I thought she was overwhelmed by the circumstances," Giles said, touching her hand. "However, there might be another reason."

"What reason?" Xander asked. "She's gone nuts?"

Giles ignored that statement beyond a glare at the young man. "Buffy said some of her friends died at the hands of this vampire. I believe she didn't expect to see you alive, Jenny. Th-that's why she fainted."

Jenny nodded, absorbing that thought. "It makes sense. This Angel, Angelus; she thinks he killed me."

"So. We're back to hitting the books?" Xander clapped his hands together. "'Cause, you know, it's been summer and all and I'm raring to get back to demon slaying." At the sound of Spike clearing his throat, he added, "Present company excluded, of course."

"I could go check around town, see if anyone knows anything about this Angel," Spike said, propelling himself towards the door.

"Th-that would be most helpful, er, Spike," Giles said. "Perhaps Jenny and I should run to the Magic Box and review some of the older texts. There may be something in them. The Watcher's diaries."

"Dinner will get cold," Willow said, pouting only a little. "But this is more important."

"Oh, what about Wesley? Maybe he's heard something in L.A.?" Dawn asked. "I mean, Buffy said that Angel and Wesley worked together."

"Good idea, Dawn," Giles said and she beamed. "I-I shall call him from the Magic Box."

"Need any help, Giles?" Oz asked.

"Yes, that would be good. Cordelia? Xander?"

"We're on it, G-man," Xander said, fetching their jackets from the closet. He helped Cordelia on with hers and slung his over his shoulder. "Sorry, Will," he said, pausing before opening the door.

"No, no, this is more important. Should we come by, later? If we can get Buffy calmed down?" Willow directed her question at Giles.

"That might be for the best. If we could show her that this vampire doesn't exist, it might be good for her." Giles sighed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes gently. "I only hope it doesn't put her in a more precarious position."

"I'm going," Spike said, walking out the door. Xander and Cordelia followed him into the night.

"Willow, you will call us if anything changes," Giles said.

"I have my cell," Jenny said, holding up the portable telephone.

"Yeah. Don't worry, we'll be okay." Willow put on a false smile and waved them out the door.

Oz paused to give her a kiss. "It'll work out," he said.

"Promise?"

"Sure."

"You'd better go. We'll bring by food, later." She squeezed his hand as he left, earning a smile for her effort. Dawn closed the door behind them all, leaning back against it and staring up the stairs.

"What do you think's going on, Willow?" she asked.

Willow followed her gaze. "I don't know, Dawny." She reached out, looping an arm around the girl's shoulder. "Come on, let's get the food packed up so we can take it to the store." She guided Dawn from the room, wishing she knew what she could do for her friend. Maybe she should call Tara. The other witch might have an idea.

Part 3

Riley swung off the plane, his green duffle slung over his shoulder. Even at night, heat still rose off the tarmac and he was glad of his thick-soled shoes as he walked across it to the building. He picked up his rental car and started the drive to Sunnydale. A part of him couldn't believe he was returning. When he'd gotten the word that Buffy had died saving Dawn, it had nearly destroyed him. Going back for the funeral, he thought he was in a nightmare. He kept thinking that Buffy couldn't be dead, that it was all a joke, that she was going to get out of the casket and say, "Surprise! Fooled you!" But it didn't happen. Now, three months later, as he was trying to rebuild his life, throwing himself into his work so he didn't have to think, he'd gotten a call from Xander, telling him Buffy was alive, he was needed back in Sunnydale.

Riley replayed the conversation in his mind. "Alive? Man, cut it out." He realized suddenly. "You don't mean, she's risen?"

"No, no," Xander had said impatiently. "She's alive, breathing, heartbeat, pulse, alive." His tone changed drastically. "Look, Riley, she needs you. She needs to see you and talk to you. She was in a bad place and she's, well, more than a little disoriented."

"I'll see if I can get leave and I'll call back." Riley remembered breaking the connection and staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Outside, the South American rainforest was alive with sounds, birdcalls, monkey shrieks, and the systematic electrical hum of tasers, being used on H.S.T.'s. It had been a little overwhelming.

It still was. He'd had to leave behind his infiltration of a nest of hostiles, vampires working with other demons. After his time with Buffy, he sometimes thought of them by their other names. It didn't matter; they all could die as far as he was concerned. Buffy lost her life battling something bigger than she was, he was trying to do the same as she had, protect the innocent. It didn't matter that she'd sent him away; that they'd reconciled, that she died and now was back from the dead. He knew he wanted to live his life with her. It was why he'd returned to Sunnydale, finding out about her mother's death. It was why he was returning now, to see this miracle.

Riley shook his head, wondering if it was a miracle. He'd have to find out from the source himself. With his thoughts to accompany him, Riley drove down the highway to Sunnydale and his fiancé.

* * *

The rainforest was soggy and dripping, not at all to his standards. He hated this place and had no idea why he'd let Dru talk him into coming here. Perpetual night under the canopy not withstanding, it simply wasn't the place he'd have chosen. Sure, prey was easy; the indigenous peoples had few vampire legends to warn them but there was no thrill to the hunt. And some of the other, localized predators were just as dangerous, if not more so than they were. He'd watched a panther take down one of Dru's minions just a few nights ago. It hadn't been a pretty sight. Entertaining, enlightening, but not something he would want to subject himself to.

Then there were the soldiers. He wasn't sure how a cadre of soldiers had found their hideout here in the rainforest, yet here they were, sneaking around, taking out the pack a little at a time. It wasn't good. For every one of the soldiers they'd managed to pull down, it seemed they lost two of their own ranks. It wasn't a pleasant thought; that mere humans might be sneakier than his pack, but then again, Dru didn't exactly go for brains when she turned humans. He tried to think of it as the soldiers weeding out the weak, infirm and stupid but when he needed muscle, scratch that, cannon fodder was the more appropriate word, he wanted as many vampires around as possible.

"What are you doing, my dark star?" Dru's voice caressed him, almost like her hand on his shoulder as she joined him under a large banana leaf.

"Watching the soldiers, love," he said, sparing her a quick glance. "Something's happening."

"Really?" She smiled, fixing her mad blue eyes on the outpost halfway in the valley below. "Do you know what?"

"No, just that your favorite doesn't seem to be around any more."

Drusilla pouted. She was taken with a tall, sandy-haired soldier. He personally didn't see anything distinctive about the young man, just another green-clad possible threat to his way of life. Now that was funny, 'way of life.' He pushed his amusement aside to turn his attention back to the outpost.

The mortals scurried like ants, as if their speed helped them accomplish anything. Often, he'd realized, human speed led to careless mistakes. Still, this group seemed efficient which is why he still watched from his place overlooking their camp. He wanted to find a good way to attack them, one last hurrah before they left this soggy place. A little lesson for them to learn, that he and his pack were something to be reckoned with.

Water dripped off the leaf and down his neck. He growled under his breath. It wouldn't surprise him if mold had started growing on his body. This feeling of always being wet was starting to get on his nerves.

He longed for a long hot bath, a roaring fire and dry, clean clothing. Once they'd overrun the outpost, he and Dru were leaving. He'd made up his mind on that some time ago. Dru would follow his lead, the rest of the pack, well, if they survived the attack, they could find their own way out of the jungle. He was ready to find a new place to rule. A new fight, something more straightforward than this guerilla warfare.

He wanted a challenge.

The soldiers below were packing it in, readying themselves for their sleep period. Daytime, like that made any difference under the canopy, where sunlight was a rare commodity. Still, he had to give them points for effort. "When they settle down, we'll strike," he said to Dru.

"Oo," she said, clasping her hands together. "It will be such fun."

He looped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "You bet, sweetie," he said to her hair. She grinned up at him and he smiled back, brushing a strand of her damp hair off her face, just in time for condensation from the trees overhead to rain down on them both. Drusilla laughed, tilting her head up to catch the rain on her face. He scowled, hunkering under his banana leaf.

He hated this jungle.

* * *

Giles leaned back in his chair, closing his book with a thump. He removed his glasses and stuck the earpiece in his mouth as he rubbed his eyes.

"Nothing?" Jenny asked him.

"Worse than nothing." He glanced towards the closed door of the practice room. Buffy'd disappeared there after finishing picking at the meal Willow and Dawn had packed to bring to everyone. Even Xander's offer of a jelly doughnut only brought out a weak smile and a shake of her head. She hadn't reappeared in three hours. Or longer.

"I haven't found anything here, either," Jenny said, gesturing at her laptop.

"Me neither," Cordelia said, closing her book and laying her head on the table. "I've got such a headache. Was I even reading English?"

Xander picked up her book and glanced at it. "Yup. Weird, strange English, but English." He set the tome down and plucked his book off his lap, waggling at the others. "Me, on the other hand, I'm finding out way too much about Darla, Drusilla and Spike. Makes me a little uncomfortable. I just hope that chip holds out."

"Drusilla has no reason to return to Sunnydale," Giles said, removing his glasses from his mouth.

"So you say," Xander said, pointing at Giles. "Who knows what really goes on in her wacky mind? She may want another showdown."

"Why should she?" Willow asked as the door to the Magic Box swung open and someone strode through it. "Buffy won last time. Why would Drusilla think that anything different might happen?"

"Drusilla?" the newcomer asked.

"Riley!" Xander jumped to his feet. "Good to see you, man."

"Hey, Xander, everybody." Riley glanced around the room. "I tried the house, no one was there. Figures you'd all be here. What's your big bad this time?"

"Er, none, at this point, Riley," Giles said, getting to his feet. "Please, come here. We need to discuss something."

"About Buffy? Where is she?"

"She's in her workout room," Giles said, nodding towards the closed door.

"Hey, Riley," Dawn said, getting up to give him a hug.

He returned it. "Hey, kiddo. How are you?"

She shrugged, giving him a lopsided smile. "Okay."

"Don't worry, Dawn. We'll take care of this thing," Riley said, squeezing her shoulder.

Her smile broadened just a bit and she detached herself, moving back to the chair she'd vacated.

"So. Giles. Wanna give me a debriefing on what I should expect? I mean, you all look like things are not going the way you expected."

"Well, they are," Willow started to protest, then deflated back into the seat she shared with Oz. "And they aren't. Buffy's...different."

"She came back from the dead," Riley said gently. "Isn't that enough? I mean, I think that'd have an effect on me, too."

"She, she's remembering things differently, Riley," Giles said, shooting him a worried glance. "She has memories of a vampire, Angel, Angelus; she's used both names, who seemed to have a relationship of sorts with her. With all of us." He gestured at the others around the room and they nodded or made other indications of their agreement with his explanation. "She inferred that he was highly dangerous but that he also had a soul."

Riley scoffed. "A soul? No vampire has a soul."

"Yes, well, that is what she claims. She also says he was part of Spike's cadre, that this Angelus ran with Spike, Darla and Drusilla, before. Spike has no recollection of this vampire either."

"Or he wasn't telling us," Xander said. When the other two men turned towards him, he shrugged. "Hey, I don't exactly trust Spike to give the whole truth."

"Neither do I," Riley said. He turned his attention back to Giles. "Other than that, how is she?"

"Well, she seems fine. Distracted, but functioning."

"She's depressed," Dawn piped up.

"Yes, that too," Giles said tiredly. "But she has been through a rather unprecedented experience."

"We're glad you could come back, Riley," Willow said. "I think she needs you."

"Thanks, Willow," he said. "Maybe I should see her now." He glanced at Giles, as if for permission. The older man waved him on and Riley walked towards the doorway that lead to Buffy's workout room. He paused before opening the door, giving them all a positive grin before he opened it and went inside.

"Well," Cordelia said, "I hope he can get through to her."

"As do I, Cordelia," Giles said, watching as the door closed.

Part 4

Buffy pounded the punching bag, her eyes focused tightly on her target. If she wore herself out, maybe, just maybe she'd be able to sleep tonight. If there was a tonight. She wasn't sure how long she'd been awake at this point, only that sometime, she would need to sleep. It was the laying down part that bothered her. She didn't like being prone. Too many bad memories. She didn't even like blankets on top of her. Even the lightest fabric felt as if it could smother her.

There was a faint creak behind her, the sound of the door opening and closing from the shop area. Giles, she thought, come to check on her. She punched the bag harder, spinning away from it to throw a kick up high, over her head. The bag swung and she leaped back, avoiding its trajectory.

"Wow."

Not Giles. Her eyes widened as she caught the bag in her hands, trying to think of what to say. What to do. In this room, she was cornered. Nowhere to go.

"That was impressive." Riley moved closer, she could hear his footsteps over the mats on the floor. He paused and then continued on his way. "I mean, I've seen you do some pretty impressive things before but it's been a while." He was right behind her. She fought to keep her hands on the bag as he dropped a towel around her shoulders, laying his hands on top of it. "I-I didn't expect to see you again."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really expect to be here," Buffy said, leaning her forehead into the bag. The cool leather felt good on her sweaty skin. She almost wanted to twitch away from his hands but they held her in place.

"Guess not," Riley said, his voice wistful. "I guess it's all a little strange, to you."

"A little," she said. My fiancé, Riley. Mom would've been proud, so proud. A normal guy, not some creature of the night, cradle-robbing boyfriend. Buffy shivered.

"Hey," Riley said, "don't I even get a hug hello?" His voice was only a little joking, covering something up.

Buffy let go of the bag and turned around to look at him. His hair was shorter than she remembered and his scent was a little different, more musky. He still smiled the same though, with those dimples. And his blue eyes were warm and loving. Buffy wondered suddenly, wildly, who'd sat with her the night of her mother's funeral. She remembered Angel's hand, pressed into hers, leaning against him, talking the night through. His cool mouth still branded hers. But Dawn had said Riley proposed to her the day after the funeral. The day after Dawn tried to raise their mother from the dead. Had it been Riley with her at the cemetery?

"Buffy?" Riley asked tentatively. His hands rested on her shoulders again, big, warm hands. "You in there?"

She blinked a few times and let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Yeah," she said. This man who betrayed her, who could've gotten himself killed by letting vampires suck on him and paying him, this was her fiancé? What had she been thinking? Or maybe it didn't happen that way here. She forced a smile up at him, wondering how she could ask. Dare she ask?

"Just checking." Riley leaned in and kissed her.

Buffy broke the contact, stepping back and pushing at him at the same time. The punching bag hit her in the back, stopping her before she could move any farther. Riley stared at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and hurt. She had to look away from him, at anything, the wall, the floor.

"Buffy?" When he reached out to her she held up her hand, withdrawing again. "What's wrong?"

"I...Riley, I don't know."

"I came as soon as I could," he said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you came back but I'm here now."

"For as long as I need you?" Her eyes widened as she realized whose words she echoed.

"Yeah," Riley said. "I can get a hardship leave, if I have to. You're what's important to me, Buffy. I told you that before. I'll tell you that again, as often as you need to hear it. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it for you."

He looked lost, even more than she felt. But his face was so expressive, not like-no, don't compare them! Buffy pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to will away tears. Could it be a vision? Was her mind messed up, from returning from the dead? Maybe this was the way it was supposed to feel, that she would have different memories than everyone else, as a way to compensate for leaving heaven. But why would they be so different? "I-I just need some time, Riley," she whispered, shooting a glance up at him.

He looked crestfallen, his shoulders slumping. "Okay, Buffy," he said, dredging up a smile for her. "It's okay. I can wait. Do you want me to stay here, or?"

"Why don't you go out with the others," she said, forcing up her own grin, though it faded almost before she had it in place. "I'll be out soon."

"Sure. I'll tell them." Riley walked backwards, trying to keep eye contact with her but she broke it to stare at the floor. She heard the door open and close and covered her face with her hands. Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe that was it.

But the memories seemed so real.

* * *

He led the attack into the outpost, a controlled rush of vampires into the campsite. They didn't expect it, much to his glee, the soldier boys not guessing that perhaps they'd been under as much surveillance as the vampires. He'd known the best time to charge in and the blows sent the mortals reeling. He heard them trying to shout for help, to try to warn others but it made no difference. The vampires rioted, the smell of blood rising high into the canopy, the damp turf beneath their feet puddling red. Shrieks of men silenced the birds for once. He roared his glee as he tore out the throat of one man, the blood fountaining into his mouth. Dru had her teeth latched into another then dropped him to move on, nearly floating to her next chosen prey.

It was glorious, this little war. He faced three men with rifles, bayonets of wood pointed at his chest and slaughtered them. He danced upon their bodies afterwards, his shoes painted with blood. Dru's minions rolled over the soldiers as if they were ants. Dru's mad laugh rang through the jungle and he saw her, swaying like a cobra, stealing the soldiers' minds before she stole their lives. The rampage was over almost too soon and he sucked the blood from one of his hands, looking around for more to kill.

The minions feasted, glutting themselves on the blood of the fallen. He ignored them. He'd be away from their single-mindedness as soon as he caught up to Drusilla. The outpost wasn't that large but it took a little time to find her, standing in one of the barracks, studying something in her hands.

"What did you find, Dru?" he asked, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She surged in his hands, the blood smell ripe on her, the scent of her heat rising in his nostrils. She liked the chaos. She got off on it. If they had time, he knew she'd convince him to rut with her in this room, where men lay dead.

"A lovely, lovely thing," she said, turning her head so she could nip at his throat.

He took it from her, the small, framed photo, only slightly stained with gore. It was of Dru's favorite soldier, holding a tiny, golden girl close. Drusilla tapped the glass with a fingernail as she undulated against his chest. "Who is it, love?" he asked. There was something about the girl, about her beaming face that burned into him like sunshine.

"The Slayer, my dark star," Drusilla purred, "the soldier knows the Slayer."

"Are you sure, baby?"

She nodded, tracing his collarbone with the tip of her tongue. "Spike has been keeping an eye on her for me. My dear boy, he'll be so disappointed the soldier returns." Her smile wicked, her pale eyes flashed like blue fire.

"You think he'll go back there?" he asked, studying the photo.

"Oh, yes. The Slayer died and came back. My Spike was so disappointed when she died." She drooped in his arms, a wilting flower then snapped upright again. "So happy when she returned. He wants her, he does. Wants her blood in his throat. Wants her to run with him. With us." She rolled her head back on his chest. "If he can have the Slayer, I want the soldier."

He broke the frame, taking the photo out and stuffing it into a pocket. "Sounds good to me, love."

"Really?"

"Sure. But only if he gets to her before I do." He swept Drusilla off her feet, her arms wrapping around his neck and carried her out of the carnage and to the awaiting vehicle. He ignored the shouts of her minions as he drove off into the jungle. "Where are we going anyway, Dru?"

"To Hell," she giggled, her fingers dancing in front of her face. "I see it, my star, all of it. The Slayer waits for you."

"She does?" Now that was a surprise. He tried to stay out of the way of the Slayers and their Watchers with their long noses, poking in a man's business. Not that he was a man anymore, but still.

Dru rolled across the seat and nearly into his lap, pressing her face into his neck. "She thinks she's in love with an angel."

A slow smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "Does she." He looked down at Drusilla, her mad blue eyes sparkling up at him. "Then Spike has his work cut out for him, doesn't he?" Drusilla laughed in delight, snuggling in close for the drive. He thought about it as he guided the vehicle through the jungle track.

The Slayer, in love with a vampire. How poetic.

* * *

Part 5

Spike kicked over a garbage can in his fury. How much bloody worse was it going to get? He stuffed a cigarette into his mouth and lit it with shaking hands. If Dru were to find out...bloody hell, when Samael found out, Spike knew his unlife would be worth less than a pile of dust.

Manipulative prick. Liked the shadows. Liked the background. Hell, Spike would pay money himself to put Samael's name in a Watchers' diary. But that bastard was too sneaky; didn't let any word of who he was pass the lips of anyone who could carry it elsewhere, like back to the bloody Council of Watchers. Darla'd been his favorite; stolen away from the Master. Spike still had no idea how Samael had done it but that had earned him part of his reputation. But Darla did like a pretty face and Samael had that all over the Master. Hell, anyone had that all over the Master but Samael also had style. That definitely clinched matters in Darla's mind. Then Dru, sweet, mad Dru, came under his spell. Samael wouldn't stop at turning a girl with Second Sight but first he had to make her crazier than a bleeding bed bug. He tied Dru to his side by blood and pain and she lapped it up like a kitten. Darla hadn't liked being second to Dru though; so Samael had suggested Dru make herself a playmate. That's where he came in.

Somehow, the Watchers had that info. Well, about the three of them, Darla, Dru and himself. He knew Rupert and the Scoobies wouldn't find out anything because Samael took it upon himself to destroy any human who found out his name. And so many vamps were afraid to even talk about the prick. He could be lord of a whole continent if he wanted, but he'd rather do what he did best, blow in, cause trouble, blame it on some innocent vamp, blow out. Hell, the whole Dracula legend? Samael. Spike had witnessed a meeting between the Dark Count and the Dark Star once. Never saw such a blowhard reduced to shambles as Drac before Samael.

He needed to contact Dru, let her know what happened with the Slayer. Spike shuddered as if a chill wind caught him. He wasn't looking forward to this at all.

* * *

Riley stared at his fiancé, standing outside in the front yard, her arms folded around herself. She stared at the huge tree, just off the porch. Slowly, she walked up to it, rubbing a hand across its bark. Tilting her head, she followed its length, up over the porch, over the top of the house. Her shoulders slumped and he sighed inwardly. She was lost in some memory that she said she had, something that never existed. He'd learned the hard way. They all had. Though search after search turned up no information on any vampire known as 'Angel' or 'Angelus,' Buffy swore he existed, that they weren't looking in the right place. Giles had even called the Council of Watchers in England, in hopes that their more extensive libraries would turn something up.

So far, to quote Xander, there had been no joy in the search. Spike hadn't come across anything, though Riley wasn't sure he trusted the neutered vampire to tell the truth. He wondered if he should just offer Spike money, to see if that greased the wheels any. For all they knew, the vampire was hiding something, something that could hand them the key to this little mystery.

Except it wasn't that little when it concerned Buffy. Riley thought that being brought back to life would be the scariest thing that might ever happen to her but it seemed these secondary memories of hers were making her crazy. He wished there really was an Angel. Buffy could stake him or whatever, get it out of her system.

"Hey," he said, stepping off the porch.

Buffy whirled defensively; relaxing only somewhat when she realized it was him. Riley hid the pain that caused. What wrong memory did she have of him that made her so jumpy? He'd been back three days and she still was as wary around him as she was around Spike. No, less wary around Spike and he was a vampire. "Oh. Hey," she said.

"Ready to go?" He held up a stake.

"Sure." She took the stake from him, sliding it into the pocket of her jacket.

"Where do you want to go tonight?" Riley asked as they walked out of the yard.

Buffy toyed with the ring on her finger, the engagement ring he'd given her. He was happy she still wore it, though she didn't seem to notice it most of the time. "Just your basic patrol," she said, shrugging. "It's been quiet since..." her voice trailed off.

"Since you chased the demons out of town," Riley finished for her. He'd heard the story, of a demon biker gang finding out about the Buffy-bot and coming to Sunnydale to wreak havoc. The night they came was the night Willow managed to bring Buffy back. He wished again he'd been there, preferably with a small battalion to protect the gang in their mission but he hadn't and there was no use apologizing for it now.

"Yeah," Buffy said quietly. She looked so fragile, Riley thought, in her long knitted coat, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her neck. Her eyes seemed tired, more tired than he ever remembered them being before. Even when Glory was after Dawn, Buffy still had confidence. Riley thought she was almost a ghost of her former self.

"So, Xander told me you went out drinking with Spike," Riley said as they walked.

Buffy gave him a long look then turned her attention to the sidewalk in front of her. "Yeah. He asked."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I...it seemed like a good idea at the time." Buffy shrugged. "It didn't mean anything. I mean, it's Spike."

Riley wanted to question her more but wasn't sure how. He could almost feel her defenses falling into place and that wall that they'd built between themselves earlier this year coming back up. "If you want to go out, you should ask Willow. Or Xander," he said gently.

"I thought, maybe if I got Spike to trust me more," Buffy said. She hunched her shoulders, as if expecting a scolding. "Maybe he'd tell me about Angel."

Riley took her upper arms and turned her to face him. "Buffy, there is no Angel. No Angelus. There's no such thing as a vampire with a soul."

She tucked her head down into her chest. "I remember him, Riley," she said and suddenly broke free, taking a step away. Her eyes flashed suddenly, reminding him of the Buffy he loved, not this pale replica. "I remember everything about him. God, I remember the first time we met. I remember how jealous Xander was of him and how jealous you were of him." She touched her neck, as if she searched for something there and jerked her fingers away. "You don't understand, Riley. He was in my life for three years. He was my life for three years. He was everything to me." She bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. "You and he fought. He came back to Sunnydale after he broke up with me and you and I were dating. He attacked some of your commando buddies to reach me. And you were so afraid I'd choose him over you, you nearly got into a fight with him in my dorm room."

"It didn't happen, Buffy," Riley said, reaching out to her again.

She knocked his hands away. "It did. It did! The last time I saw him was the night of my mom's funeral." She turned away, dashing the tears from her eyes. She seemed to see something, see that false memory. "He came to me. He came just as the sun went down and sat with me the whole night. And he said he'd stay with me for as long as I wanted, if I needed him." Buffy's voice broke. "I wanted him to stay, Riley. So much." She turned around abruptly. "What happened the night of the funeral? Was it you with me?"

"I...I found you with Spike. You were talking," he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Spike said he was watching out for you and he walked away. And you and I sat beneath a tree and you cried."

"And the next day, you proposed to me." Buffy lifted her hand to stare at the ring on her finger.

"Yeah."

"And I said 'yes'."

"You said 'yes'." He wanted to take her in his arms but she looked like she might run if he moved any closer. Riley ached for her. He needed to talk to Giles, to talk to any of them and try to work this out. The false memories were hurting Buffy, more than she deserved. They had to do something about them before they took over her life.

"I said 'yes'," Buffy said, a faint smile twisting her mouth. There was no joy in her expression, just a terrible, terrible sorrow.

* * *

Part 6

Xander hung up the telephone receiver. "That was Riley," he said, returning to where Jenny, Willow and Dawn were clustered around the table, musty books in their laps and scattered in front of and around them. "He was checking in. He and Buff got three vamps this evening." He gestured with his head at Willow behind Dawn's back.

"Well that's really good, isn't it?" she asked, glancing at Jenny, who lifted her eyebrows at Dawn.

"Yeah. He thought Giles might want to know." Xander beckoned at Willow. She nodded at Dawn.

"Giles!" Dawn shouted, not lifting her eyes from her book. "Xander wants to tell you something and doesn't want me to know!"

"How does she do that?" Xander asked, staring down at her.

Dawn smiled broadly, lifting her head back to look up at him. "My sister's the Slayer. I learned to pick up on things."

"What is it?" Giles asked, appearing from the office, his glasses dangling from his mouth.

"That was Riley on the phone," Xander said. He shot a glare at Dawn, who kept turned the page of her book.

"I'll pretend to not listen," she said, "is that good enough?"

"I-is it important?" Giles asked nervously, setting another stack of books on the counter.

Xander thought about the question and nodded. "Could be. See, Riley has this theory about Buffy. And it's kinda scary but it would make a hell of a lot more sense than her going crazy."

"Oo, I like that," Willow said, getting to her feet and joining the men. "What is it?"

"Yes, Xander, please tell us," Giles said.

Xander backed up, pointing both his forefingers at them. "Well, Buff has all these memories of things that never happen. Riley's thinking that maybe they didn't happen to us but they did happen to her."

Jenny rose and joined them, looping an arm through Giles'. "I don't understand," she said, frowning.

"Oh, I do," Willow said, bouncing. "He's saying maybe we got the wrong Buffy." She froze, her eyes widening in horror. "Maybe we got the wrong Buffy."

Giles slowly removed his glasses from his mouth and replaced them on his nose. "It w-would make the most sense," he said softly. "If-if the wrong soul was returned, from another possible dimension, a dimension where there was a vampire with a soul, it would explain quite a lot." He leaned heavily against the counter. "That would mean..."

"That our Buffy is really gone," Xander said, his expressive face falling.

"But she isn't, really," Dawn said, suddenly next to Giles, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. "I mean, she's Buffy. She's my sister. She's the same person. I'd know. We'd all know." She gestured at them each.

Giles covered her hand with his gently. "I'm sorry, Dawn, you probably shouldn't have heard this."

"No, no, I'd want to know. I mean, it's the best explanation," Dawn said, slumping next to him.

"Wow," Willow said softly. "It's like, you know, when vampire me showed up. Only worse. There probably isn't a way to trade them, is there?"

"N-no," Giles said. He removed his glasses again to rub the bridge of his nose. "Our Buffy c-could be in another dimension or-or gone beyond any attempts to call her back. We will simply have to attempt to make this Buffy as welcome as we would our own." He sighed.

"Should we keep looking for Angel?" Dawn asked hesitantly.

Giles blinked, looking at the other adults. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," he said. "Though perhaps we should talk to Buffy and see if she wants to continue the search." He reached a decision. "We should call everyone together for a meeting."

"Spike too?" Dawn asked.

"No, we will fill him in later," Giles said. "For now, just us humans." He patted Dawn's shoulder. "Willow, if you could make the calls?"

"Sure." She started for the telephone.

"I'll go get Cordy. And we'll need doughnuts," Xander said, heading for the door. He snapped his fingers, turning around. "Giles, what about Wesley? Remember, Buffy said Wesley worked with Angel, too."

"True." Giles glanced towards the doorway. "It's rather too late to expect him to come down here on such short notice. I will contact him later."

"Right." Xander did an about-face and continued out the door.

"I'll just get back to my reading," Dawn said, picking her way back to her chair.

Jenny looked to the girl and back at Giles. "Are we sure this is a good idea, Rupert?" she asked her husband quietly. "If Riley's theory is true, is it better to let Buffy know?"

"Would you prefer she thinks of herself as crazy?" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Jenny. I didn't mean to snap. But at this point, I think it would provide her some comfort and the rest of us, too. If we can sort out what the differences are, beyond what little Buffy has told us, it might be helpful." He took her elbow and led her a little away from the center of the store. "What if Buffy is correct, that there is a vampire as dangerous as she said, one who might be seeking her out? Wouldn't it be best to know as much as information as she can provide, to keep him at bay?"

Jenny nodded slowly. "I have some contacts," she said, "through the techno-pagans. I'll see if they have any information on this having happened before." She laid a hand on his chest. "Rupert, there is another thing. What if there's a reason this Buffy was brought here, to us?"

His lips thinned. "I wondered that, myself." He patted her shoulder, much the same way he had Dawn. "Please, see what you can find out. I shall contact Wyndham-Price on the office telephone, to find out if he has any contacts of his own who might be able to help us." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and walked into the office area of the store. He had to use a book to find the correct telephone number but dialed it quickly. It rang two times and the connection was made.

"Wyndham-Price Investigations. How may we help you?"

"Wyndham-Price, Rupert Giles here." He paused, taking a breath. "I need your assistance."

* * *

The room was dank and dreary, though a fireplace with a roaring fire and candles strewn everywhere did provide lighting. A mounted deer's head glared balefully from above the mantelpiece and heavy wooden and leather furniture completed the scheme. He ushered the beautiful girl into the room, prowling behind her as she spun around, her fear transmitting itself like a fine perfume. The corners of his mouth tilted up. "You do not like my home, my fair Sheila?" he asked.

"No, it's nice, uh, if you go for that Goth thing," she said. She looked around the room but kept glancing over her shoulders at him as well. He liked that.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked, placing the tips of his fingers together.

"Well," she said, eyeing him. "No?"

"My dear Sheila, you have nothing to fear here."

"Especially from a cheesy line like that. My god, what kind of set up is this? Do you think you're still in the eighteen hundreds?"

Dracula froze. That voice.

"You really need to get over yourself, Drac."

He turned slowly, seeing the pair standing in the doorway. He walked in and she trailed behind, grinning like the mad child she was. "Samael," Dracula said coldly.

"Drac." He sauntered closer, cocking his head from one side to the other. "Tsk, tsk. Come on, buddy. You're still even dressing the part. Doesn't it get old?"

"Who are these people, Mr. Tepes?"

"Mr. Tepes," Samael mocked cheerfully. "I like that." He prowled up to the girl, eyeing her up as if she was his own tender morsel. "Didn't he tell you, honey? He's the man." Samael made an extravagant sweep of his hands. "Dracula." He turned back to Dracula. "Did you bring enough for the rest of the class?"

Drusilla crawled onto the long table, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "I like it here, my dark star," she said. "It's all broody and moody." She turned onto her stomach and pulled herself along the surface. "And dark and lovely. Like you."

"Thanks, sweetie." Samael smiled. He picked up a strand of Sheila's hair and rubbed it between his fingers. "What about you? What do you think of this parlor, little fly?"

"Fly?" She backed away from Samael, looking from one vampire to the other. "What's going on?"

"You just don't get it," Samael said. "He brought you here to wine you, dine on you and then turn you to his evil ways." His face changed suddenly, the demon coming to the fore. "Me, I'm just gonna suck you dry." He grabbed Sheila's arm, pulling her against his chest. Despite her struggles, he tilted her head to the side, burying his fangs into her jugular. Dracula could hear her rapidly beating heart stilling as Samael drank and finally, he dropped the girl from his arms.

Stepping back, Samael cleaned his teeth with his tongue. "Mm. Fresh meat. Well, blood anyway. You sure know how to show your guests a good time, Drac."

"You are not my guest," Dracula said. "I did not invite you here, Samael. What is it that you want?"

Samael pulled out a chair and dropped into it, kicking his feet up on the arm of the chair next to him. He reached out to Drusilla, pulling her along the table so she was in front of him. He rested his cheek against her breast. Drusilla combed his hair with her fingers, smiling lazily at Dracula. He couldn't quite meet her blue eyes. "Well, now, that's an interesting question, Drac old boy. You see, Dru and I just came from down south. The jungle, in fact. It was really wet there and we thought we ought to go somewhere where we could dry out. We were thinking...California."

"California? Why ever would you want to go there?" Dracula asked, leaning his hands on the table, watching the pair settled halfway down it.

"Hellmouth. Slayer." Samael shrugged eloquently. "Thought it'd be a kick." He lifted his head. "I hear you had a run in with her. What can you tell me?"

"Why would I want to tell you anything," Dracula said, "Sam?"

"You see, that's what I like about you. No, wait, I think I hate that about you. Anyway, Dru's little boy toy is up there now, infiltrating the Slayer's world. I'd still like to get your take on her."

"She's insufferable," Dracula said. "She and her little band of friends-"

"Band of friends." Samael nodded. "That's good. A Slayer with back-up."

"They have taken on a great many vampires and destroyed them. She vanquished the Master and I'm sure you know what happened to your dear, lovely Darla at her hands. If not, I'm sure Drusilla will tell you."

Drusilla pouted, making a sound something like a wounded puppy. Samael stroked her hair soothingly. "It's all right, sweetie," he said. "I've already heard Dru's version of the Slayer. Soon, I'll get to hear Spike's little tales. Right now, I'd like to hear yours."

"Oh, all right," Dracula said, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you. But you owe me one."

"Sure," Samael said expansively, leaning back in his chair again. "So. Spill."

* * *

Part 7

They gathered together at the Magic Box, the old familiar group. Giles and Jenny, Willow and Oz, Cordy and Xander (with doughnuts), Riley and Buffy. Dawn floated between the cash register and the table, a doughnut in one hand.

"I hope this is important," Cordelia said, flipping her hair back off her shoulders.

"I believe it is," Riley said. "Buffy and I were talking while we were out on patrol and I think I realized something. It could explain all the weirdness that's been going on since she got back."

"That'd be good," Buffy said tiredly.

"Well, I don't know about good, Buffy," Riley said, giving her an apologetic smile. "But it is a possible explanation. And we can work on it from there." He stood up, walking around the table, gathering their attention. "As we know, Buffy has a lot of memories that none of us share. But she has memories that we do share, but not necessarily in the same way."

"Yeah?" Buffy frowned slightly.

"You keep bringing up the idea of a vampire with a soul," Riley said, facing her directly. "None of us have heard of such a thing. Yet he seems to have been important in your life previously." He said it without flinching. It was hard, but he did it.

"He was," Buffy said.

Riley hated the expression on her face when she said that. The tone of her voice cut right through him. She wasn't supposed to feel that way about anyone besides him, much less a vampire. Still. Buffy needed his help and his support and he was here to give it to her, if she'd just accept it. "So. Since, none of us remember this Angel or Angelus but he's very much a part of your memories, I thought that maybe...maybe Willow brought back the wrong person."

"What?" Buffy asked.

"It-it makes sense, Buffy. I mean, I brought you back but I didn't bring back the right you, you know?" Willow's hands twined in her lap. Oz put his arm around her shoulders.

"The wrong me?" Buffy shook her head. "So you're saying there's another me somewhere? That I'm not supposed to be here?"

"Well, that's kind of the hard way to say it, but...maybe you are supposed to be here." Willow shrugged, flicking her bangs out of her eyes nervously. "I mean, I don't think that Osirus, god of the underworld, would've made a mistake." She turned wide eyes to Giles. "Would he?"

"Buffy, what matters is that you're here," Giles said. "You are you, regardless of the memories you have."

"But...if this isn't my world, 'cause that's what you're saying, right? That maybe I'm in the wrong world? What's going on in my world? Is your Buffy there? C-can we be switched back?" Buffy looked from one face to another, her face paling, her hands gripping the arms of her chair so tight her knuckles whitened.

"I-I'm not sure if we can, Buffy," Giles said gently. "The magicks used to bring you back were not to be undertaken lightly. The fact that you are here at all is something that we must rejoice in and I'm afraid," he reached out, covering one of her hands with his own, "you must accept it as well. I don't believe we can return you to your proper world."

"So, I'm stuck here?" She shrank back into her chair.

"Hey, don't think of it as stuck, Buff," Xander protested. "We're still us and we still love you."

"Just because there's one vampire out of hundreds who doesn't seem to be here, that really doesn't matter, does it?" Cordelia asked. "I mean, what difference does one vampire make?"

Buffy bolted from her seat. "You don't understand," she said, standing at the edge of their circle, just out of reach. "Angel and I...he was important. He cared for all of us." She hesitated when she glanced at Riley and shivered. "There isn't any way I can go back?" she asked weakly.

"I-I'm afraid not, no," Giles said, removing his glasses and looking at his hands. "We will assist you in any way possible, Buffy. Do not think we won't. We are your friends and, well, your family since your mother died."

"And we need you." Dawn went to Buffy and wrapped her arms around Buffy's waist, leaning her head on Buffy's shoulder. "You're still my sister. It doesn't matter what happened in the past, you're you. You'll always be you. I mean, we share blood, right?"

Buffy cautiously slid an arm around Dawn's waist, biting her lower lip. "Yeah, we've got Summers' blood," she said, pressing her cheek on Dawn's glossy hair. "We're strong." Her eyes met Riley's and he smiled reassuringly. Buffy didn't return the grin, her expression guarded and worried.

"There is another possibility, Buffy," Giles said.

She and Dawn turned to him. "What is it?" Buffy asked.

"I-I spoke with Wesley earlier today, to ask if he'd heard of a vampire named Angel. He had not but I explained Riley's theory to him. He said that he might be able to help you."

"Wesley?" Cordelia scoffed. "How in the world would that dweeb be able to help?"

"And you used to have such a crush on him," Xander needled.

"Oh, shut up." She smacked his chest lightly. "Giles?"

"It seems," Giles said, cleaning his glasses, "that Wesley knows of a demon karaoke bar. The host, whom he knows rather well and trusts," he pointed one of the earpieces at Buffy and Dawn, "is a psychic. He thought that maybe you would want to speak with the host, Buffy."

"Psychic?" Buffy asked, sounding dazed. "A psychic demon? Wesley's working with demons now?"

"Yes. Again, he does trust this demon. He said he's been in the demon's home dimension and returned safely. He'd be willing to introduce you if you're at all interested."

"Buffy?" Riley asked, when she didn't speak up after a few minutes.

Her head lifted, her eyes clear. "Yeah. Tell Wesley I'm coming to L.A., Giles."

"I shall call him tomorrow," Giles said. "In the meantime, I would suggest we all return to our respective homes and try to rest." He got to his feet, assisting Jenny. "Buffy, I shall call you tomorrow with Wesley's answer."

She nodded. "Good. Thanks, Giles."

"Of course, Buffy." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Now go home, get some rest."

She and Dawn started for the door, Buffy disengaging herself from Dawn and looking back at her friends. "I-I don't really know what to say," she murmured. "I mean...you don't think I'm crazy?"

"No," Xander said, standing up and going to Buffy, giving her a hug. "Just a little mixed up. Who wouldn't be, if what Riley says is true? It doesn't matter though." Xander let her go but kept his hands on her shoulders. "Dawn's right. You're you, no matter what."

"Thanks, Xander." Buffy hugged him then, so strongly he yelped.

"Ribs. Need those to live."

"Oops. Sorry." Buffy let him go sheepishly and patted his chest in apology.

"S'okay. I'm sure I'll be able to breathe deeply again in a few days."

"Ignore him, Buffy," Cordelia said. "Things will work out." She reached out and tucked a strand of loose hair behind Buffy's ear. "It'll be okay."

Buffy stared at Cordelia as if in complete shock as the brunette walked past her, Xander in her wake. Willow and Oz stood as well. "Let's get you ladies home," Oz said. "And Buffy? You're still ubercool."

"Thanks, Oz." She glanced at Riley, who nodded, following the others out the door. Giles and Jenny came last, locking up the store. "You'll call tomorrow?" she asked Giles again.

"As soon as I hear from Wesley," Giles promised.

"Thanks." Buffy climbed into Oz's van and Riley piled in after her, sliding the door closed. Dawn sat behind Oz though she smiled at Buffy and took one of her hands. Buffy squeezed her sister's hand in return.

"It'll be okay, Buffy. I promise," Dawn said.

Riley just hoped the girl was right.

* * *

The Bronze was jumping, almost literally, Dingoes Ate My Baby playing on stage and dancers hopping around as if they were on pogo sticks. Buffy bounced off one, then another, before she made her way to the table with her friends. Willow waggled her fingers excitedly from her seat next to Xander, with Cordy on his other side. "Hey, Buffy!" Willow said excitedly. "Saved you a seat." She gestured expansively towards a huge throne made of bones, with skulls as the armrests.

"Uh, that's not really mine, is it?" Buffy asked, eyeing it cautiously.

"Oh, come on, Buff. Sometimes a chair is just a chair," Xander said. He offered her a hand to lead her up to the throne.

"But not that kind of chair," Buffy said, pulling back.

"Come on, Buff. You know you want to."

That voice. Buffy jerked her head up, noticing a second throne next to the first. A familiar figure dropped both feet onto the floor and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. A smile quirked up the corner of his mouth and his eyes, the only thing that seemed at all alive in him, sparkled darkly. "A-angel?"

He considered this question. "Wrong."

"Angelus."

"Still wrong."

Buffy stared at him, feeling Xander tugging at her, trying to pull her onto the dais with him. Drusilla prowled around from the back of the throne, sucking blood off her fingers. Spike appeared on the other side; an unholy trinity she recognized all too well. "Not again," she said softly.

Angelus leaped off his throne, a predator attacking his prey, bowling Xander over to get to her. She could see the Willow and Cordelia, picking Xander up, brushing him off then Angelus blotted out her sight of everything else. He took her shoulders in his hands, leaning in close. "Everything happens for a reason, Buff," he said, his palms sliding up to cup her face.

Buffy woke with a cry, staring around the room in horror. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, an after-effect of the nightmare. Rolling from her bed, she turned on the light, wrapping her arms around herself. Nothing wrong in the room, nothing but she had to get out of it. Fumbling with the knob, she manage to open the door and pinballed off the walls as she made her way down the stairs. Not quite thinking, she opened the front door, stumbling out into the night.

Cool air hit her face and she sucked at it like it was water, goose pimples popping up on her arms. Somewhere, in the distance, a dog barked and she could hear the faint sounds of traffic on one of the busier streets. She pattered down the porch, rumpling her hair with her hands.

"Buffy?"

She whirled, hands falling automatically into a defensive position. "R-riley?"

"It's me," he said. He started to reach for her and hesitated. "Are you okay?"

Riley. Riley'd been sleeping on the couch. Right. She knew that. "I had a dream," Buffy said, relaxing her stance. She looked around, her eyes lighting on the tree again. Her face crumpled and she sniffed, hard.

"Buffy, come on. It's chilly out here." Riley offered her his hand. "Come on inside, I'll make you some hot chocolate."

She heaved a sigh, shuffling to him. Riley didn't quite touch her as he shepherded her back up the porch and into the house, closing the door behind them.

Spike watched the interchange from his spot in the bushes. The Slayer was all messed up. She'd be easy prey. Didn't trust her G.I. Joe anymore, wasn't sure about her friends. That just left him. And he thought she might be ripe for the picking.

Smiling wryly, Spike turned on his heel and walked off into the night.


	2. Reflections

To call it a road was almost pretentious. Deep, jagged ruts cut through the dirt path and at times the trail almost seemed to meander off through the cactus and vanish into nothing. It defied the suspensions and shocks of any vehicle that dared take it to its final destination; an old, weathered building of sheet metal with windows high up on the sides and exhaust fans turning hard, whining shrilly in the night.

The desert moon shone cold and clear over the building and the starlight was harsh rather than comforting. It was almost too bright for predators to be hunting but they needed to survive too, so they were out in full force. Anything that believed different was just looking to get eaten.

Inside the building they were as active as ants, torches cutting through metal, hydraulic drills screaming, pry bars and screwdrivers and wrenches and pullies, all being welded by men who knew exactly what they were doing, under the supervision of Benny the Shark, who watched from his air conditioned office, high above the work floor. He turned back to his desk, checking his manifold against the list of cars currently on the deck. His pudgy fingers tapped lightly on the papers, noting requests for more Accords from New Jersey, Infinitis from California and a few prizes, the orders for specialty cars. He grinned. He really liked the specialty orders he got and took great pride in filling them. Classic cars had so much more panache than anything coming out of Detroit, Japan or Italy. He didn't even deign to classify the crap from Korea as being automobiles. Sometimes the Brits could do it right; those Aston-Healeys were damn cute and could get up and run but Benny's true passion was the American muscle car.

His first had been a '67 Pontiac GTO convertible, nothing less than the crème de le crème available at the time and able to outrun nearly anything on the street. He traded up to a '68 Plymouth Barracuda, with the 426-Hemi engine and continued racing. Met people. Took names and pink slips on the road with that monster. Benny'd raced pony cars and sports cars and wouldn't trade his muscle cars for either. The things out on the street now? Well, it was criminal that the Impala name was stuck to something nowhere near as sexy as the original model.

Benny shook his head, thinking it was a shame the Feds had created such a stir during the gas crisis, so emission standards and streamlining created cars that were almost completely indistinguishable from each other on the road. He couldn't tell anything apart any more. Nothing really had much class except for the Dodge Prowler. Uncomfortable as Hell to drive but it caught the eye and was a sharp little piece of equipment. Not that he'd trade his current car for one but if he had to have a car from this decade, that would be what he'd go after.

Benny raised his head from his work. Something was wrong. He concentrated, folds showing on his forehead as he frowned, trying to place it. He rose to his feet, swinging open the door of his office, looking down at the floor.

All work had stopped. That was what alerted him, no noise. To a man, his crew was turned towards the huge bay door, where the semis would pull in to load up the finished product. Benny looked there too, somehow not surprised to see the huge door standing wide open, the bright light from the shop spilling out into the desert.

A man and a woman stood in that pool of light on the concrete bay, waiting there with a sort of an eerie, careless ease. Benny swallowed reflexively, then shouted down to his foreman. "Raoul. What's going on?"

"Jefe, the door, it just opened and these two," Raoul flung a hand holding a ratchet towards the pair, "were there."

The man wandered in, the woman trailing a little behind, through the cars ready for the next pick-up. She skimmed her hand over the freshly baked paint, as if along a lover's flesh. The man stopped a few feet away from Raoul, smiling. Benny felt a chill run down his spine.

"I talked to," the man said, glancing around the shop, "what was his name, sweetie?" He snapped his fingers at the woman who joined him, snuggling up against his side. She whispered something to him, her electric blue eyes glittering over the men on the floor. "Yeah, that's it. Miguel. Remarkable name, huh. Anyway, I told Miguel we needed some transportation. He suggested I look you up."

Raoul flicked a nervous glance towards the office. Benny waved him off, knowing that these two wouldn't have missed that action. Sure enough, they both turned their attention to him; the man's smile broadening.

"Are you Benny?" he asked, absently running his fingers up and down the woman's back. She rubbed up against him like she was in heat, though her sharply pretty face was tilted his way.

"I am," Benny said. "If Miguel sent you, he also should've told you that orders have to be placed and we contact you once we've got what you want." He gripped the wooden railing in his hands. Neither of the pair had any visible weapons but he didn't doubt their threat. They were too...easy and cool, like they were in complete control of the situation.

The man nodded, fingering his lower lip. "Sure, sure," he said affably, "I understand the way business works. I mean, it's all about supply and demand, isn't it? You can't just give me something that somebody else's ordered." He swung a little from side to side, the woman moving with him, almost as if they danced. "But you know, Benny, this stuff isn't what I wanted anyway. I mean, sure, this is what the average dealer wants, something innocuous and bland." He rapped the trunk of a Celica for emphasis. "Me, I like a little luxury. Room to spread out." His eyebrows danced and he tilted his head down towards his companion, running a fingertip along her jaw line. "You know what I mean." He returned his attention to Benny.

"I don't have anything of that sort in stock right now, Mr...? It seems you have me at a bit of a disadvantage."

"You can call me," he said, his off-handed humor sharpening like a silver blade, "Angel."

The woman laughed at that comment, burying her face in his shoulder. He smirked at her, obviously pleased at her recognition of whatever it was that the name meant between them.

"Mr. Angel," Benny began.

"Just Angel is fine, Benny. I mean, we're all friends here. We should be on a first-name basis, don't you think?" He encompassed the staff with a lazy wave.

"Angel," Benny said. "As I mentioned before, requests must be made. Once I have your order filled, I'll contact you. If you'd like to step into my office, I'm sure we can make arrangements for whatever you'd like."

"But," Angel looked up at him again, his dark eyes piercing even across the distance, "you already have what I want in stock. And I always get what I want."

"Maybe wherever you come from," Benny said, hoping his voice didn't waver. You didn't back down from men like this, otherwise they ran roughshod over you forever. "But here, we do things my way. This is my shop. What I say goes. And I think you and your lady friend have overstayed your welcome. Boys? Escort this Angel and his friend outside the building."

Many tools used in chopping cars could double as weapons. Torches were excellent on the offensive and the heavier crescent wrenches made great clubs. Raoul and his team grabbed their tool of choice and moved in towards the pair. "Oh, boys?" Benny said. "Remember, that's our next shipment. Try not to damage it too much."

"What about the woman, Jefe?" Raoul asked, gesturing at her.

"She can take care of herself." Angel made a show of kissing the woman then spun her away from his body in a choreographed move. She smiled at the men moving towards her, her delicate hands held up in front of her face, beckoning them. Angel lounged to the side, that smirk still visible.

One of the men hooted. "You let your woman fight for you? Maybe she has bigger cajones than you, huh?"

"Why don't you try her," Angel said with a shrug. He glanced at her and she smiled back. "Unless you're scared to attack a woman. When she's obviously unarmed and," he made an 'o' out of his mouth, his eyes widening, "you're scared."

Benny wondered why he didn't feel any better about his men pressing the attack. Unless this pair had back up hidden outside, they were two against twenty. And that woman was a little bitty thing. One blow ought to take her out.

Raoul swung the flame of his torch at Angel. The taller man moved aside fluidly, managing to somehow catch the downward swing of a wrench from another opponent. He pulled the man in front of him and threw him into Raoul's torch. The woman slashed out with her fingernails, cutting open two faces with one blow. Benny watched in shock as she pulled another man to her, taking his head in her hands and laughing as she snapped his neck.

Angel used feet and hands to keep Benny's men at a distance until he positioned each one where he wanted him. Benny could only stare as his men dropped around the pair; torches still blazing, wrenches and pipes thrown into the product. He winced as Angel bodily picked Raoul up, flinging him through the back windscreen of one of the cars. The torch set the interior on fire. The woman laughed at the sight before she grabbed her own prey. Benny yelped as her face changed, her brow thickening, teeth extending and she bent the mechanic's head to the side, burying her fangs into his throat.

The men fell back at this horror, at the flames that backlit the pair who seemed to have escaped from Hell. Angel seemed to move with the speed of the fire, lashing out, taking down men left and right as his woman went after others almost playfully. When they were finished, the concrete floor ran red, bodies strewn everywhere. Fire blazed hot at the back of the building. Benny shrank back as they started up the stairs, their amber eyes reflecting the firelight green, like a wild animal's.

"Well, Benny, now it's just us," Angel said.

"W-what are you?" he asked.

"Vampires," the woman said, showing him her teeth. "Boo."

Benny didn't want to be backed into his office. There was no way to escape from that room, save the stairs. But they kept coming and he retreated quickly, reaching into his desk drawer for his Desert Eagle. He pointed the heavy gun at the pair as they paused in the doorway, the muzzle waggling slightly. He swallowed and squeezed the trigger.

The sound was deafening in the small room. Benny felt a flash of triumph as Angel tumbled back over the railing then the woman was all over him like a wildcat. Her teeth and claws ripped at him, knocking the gun from his hand. He cried out in pain and terror, losing control of his bladder as her fangs buried in his throat. She nursed at his neck, crouched on his chest, riding out the spasms of his body until she drained him dry.

Rising to her feet, Drusilla looked for her companion, rushing to the railing to peer down. "Dark star? Samael?" she asked, worried.

Samael sat up, shaking his head once, his dark hair tumbling into his face. "Done with your snack?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck then twisting it from side to side to loosen it.

She grinned. "He was yummy."

"Great. Get the keys and let's go."

Drusilla rifled through Benny's pockets, finding a set of keys. She palmed them and took money from his wallet. She didn't understand the use of money, Samael could take anything he needed and she'd be happy to help him but sometimes he wanted to pretend to be human. It threw them off, he said, kept him in a low profile status. Whatever he meant, Dru thought it might be a good idea to have some money. She finished checking through the desk drawers, finding a small box, locked up tight. She gathered that and trotted down the stairs. Samael was waiting near another doorway, his expression patient. Blood stained the front of his shirt and she pouted. She hated to see her dark star dressed in less than perfection.

"Well?" he asked.

She handed over the keys and the money she'd filched. He eyed the box and offered her his arm. The pair of them walked out into the desert night and to the small parking lot of cars.

"1967 Plymouth Belvedere GTX," Samael said as they approached the long black car. He unlocked the door and Dru slid inside, purring. It was big, big enough for them to sleep in, if they needed to. Samael went to the front and opened the hood. "A 426 Hemi engine. Benny knew what he was doing. This car has a lot of get up and go." He fiddled with the engine, Drusilla could see him checking fluids and other things up there and turned her attention to the pretty fire, starting to lick up the sides of the metal building. "A convertible, of all things. Guess we'll be doing a lot of night driving, huh, sweetie?" He slammed the hood shut and joined Drusilla in the cabin, starting the car. The engine roared to life as if it wanted to challenge the fire for dominance. Drusilla patted the dash, her eyes wide.

"It sounds like you, my dark star," she said.

"It does, doesn't it?" He flashed her a grin and piloted the car out of the dusty parking lot, carefully guiding it along the pitted road. "And I even like the color."

Drusilla joined him in his laughter as they drove away from the burning building, the night brightening all around them from the flames.

* * *

Part 2

Buffy woke with a start, feeling on alert and confused for a second. The sound of someone breathing in her room made her heart race for an instant as she peered over the side of the bed. She bit back her disappointment upon seeing the familiar face.

Riley slept on the floor, rolled onto his side, his dark blond hair tousled. His large hands curled into the blanket she'd given him from her bed. He'd come upstairs with her and accepted a place on the floor rather than next to her, his disappointment quickly hidden with a sweet smile. Buffy knew he'd wanted more, wanted to hold her and soothe away her fears but she didn't know if she could take that.

Not from Riley. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Her gut clenched when she remembered their last argument over the vampire whores who'd sucked his blood. She remembered trying to chase down the helicopter that took Riley away from her. And she remembered that Riley hadn't sent her a birthday card, not even a note saying, "Hi, I'm okay."

It was strange, thinking back to that last birthday, when Dawn cut herself and Willow transported Glory to...somewhere else. She wondered if the gang here remembered her birthday the same way. Well, minus Anya and Tara, obviously. Buffy suddenly wanted to know if Riley had sent a card to this Buffy, her doppelganger.

Back home, wherever that was, she'd gotten a card from Angel.

Buffy crumpled the sheet she laid on top of at the thought of it. It had been sweet. Totally unexpected. A note was inside, written in Angel's flowing hand. No return address to alert anyone else, just an envelope like the others she received, a throw away card from her father (though the money inside wasn't bad); another from an aunt who lived in Muncie, Indiana and Buffy vaguely remembered from her childhood. But Angel's card, with a carefully drawn sketch of her enclosed, it made up for not hearing from Riley.

Buffy leaned back into her pillow. That wasn't this world, though. Angel wasn't here. He'd never been here. Forcing the now-familiar feeling of loss back, Buffy climbed out of her bed, carefully stepping over Riley. She gathered clothes together quickly and slipped out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.

It was full of Dawn, getting ready for school. Buffy slumped against the wall for a second, then slipped into Dawn's room to change. She used Dawn's brush to make sense of her hair, deciding that a ponytail suited her mood.

Balling up her pajamas, Buffy left Dawn's room, all but running down the stairs.

As she walked into the kitchen to start making coffee, the images of the dream she'd had the night before flashed in her head. The Bronze, with Willow, Xander and Cordelia, at a table. A throne of bones. Spike, Drusilla and...Angelus.

The emotions struck like a sharp blade, cutting through her thoughts until all she saw was Angel's face, twisted in that vicious sneer. His voice echoed in her mind. Buffy shook her head, trying to clear it. Not here. Angelus wasn't here, either.

Buffy heard footsteps, someone coming into the kitchen. "Buffy, are you okay?" Dawn asked, concern coloring her voice. And why not? She'd found out she wasn't human, lost her mother, watched her sister die and then come back to life and not be quite right. It had to be a little traumatic.

"I'm all right, Dawny," Buffy said. She managed a smile. "Just a bad dream."

"Is that why you got up at three in the morning?" Dawn asked, moving past her to get into the cabinet. She pulled out a cereal box.

"You heard me?"

Dawn smirked as she poured cereal into a bowl. "And heard Riley come upstairs with you. And noticed he's not on the couch this morning."

"You notice too much," Buffy said, irritated, then sobered up. "Listen, Dawn, I don't want you to be scared. No matter what happens, I love you."

She gave Buffy the look. "Duh."

Buffy sat across from her sister, twisting the ring on her finger. Riley's ring. "Did-did you and Willow live here by yourselves after I...?" She grimaced.

Dawn nodded, crunching her cereal and swallowing. "With the Buffy-bot," she said. Her eyes dropped towards the bowl in front of her. "You aren't sad you came back, are you?"

Crossing her arms on the tabletop, Buffy leaned her chin on top of them. It was a valid question and trust Dawn to ask it. But any of them might, at any given time. She just couldn't tell the truth, that where she'd been before her return, well, not return, since she'd never actually been to this world, was heaven.

"I mean, this isn't really your home," Dawn said softly.

Buffy tilted her gaze up to meet her sister's eyes. Little Dawn, who was already taller than she was if they were both barefoot. She didn't ever want to hurt her sister, not this one, not any other one. Reaching across the table, she took Dawn's free hand. "It is," she said. "Really, Dawn. Wherever you are, that's home for me."

Her face brightened. "Really?"

"Really."

Dawn stirred the cereal with her spoon, becoming serious again. "Because, I mean, I know you wonder about that vampire. But maybe you should ask Spike again. He knows a lot."

"Maybe." Buffy considered that. Spike didn't always fork over information without a little persuasion. He and Willie were alike that way. She straightened up, releasing Dawn's hand. "But maybe I should just...forget about him." She swallowed the pang that idea brought up. "He isn't here. Maybe he was just in my world." She stared at the ring on her finger again, thinking of another band she'd worn. She wondered if her friends and Dawn had gone through her things after her death. Would one of them return the claddagh ring to Angel?

Would they even think to? Would they have even had the courtesy to tell him she'd died?

No, someone would have. Giles, or maybe Willow. Buffy wondered if he'd grieved. She shook her head. Angel would have grieved. She just hoped he would go on anyway. If all these worlds were tied in together somehow, if there was only one heaven, maybe they'd have a chance to see each other again.

"Well, I have to get on to school." Dawn put her bowl and spoon in the sink and ran water into it. She slid around the table and gave Buffy a one-armed hug. "I want to hear about Wesley and the demon when I get home," she said.

Buffy clutched Dawn's forearm in her hands affectionately, then let her sister go. "I'll tell you all about it. Well, unless it's something bad."

Dawn rocked back on her heels, striking a pose. "I'm a Summers woman," she announced. "I can take anything."

Buffy shooed her out the door. "School."

"School." Dawn waved at her sister as she closed the door behind her. Buffy watched her out the window. Their mother had done the same thing, so many times previously. It almost seemed the right thing to do, as if ingrained into her.

"Morning, Buffy," Willow said, coming into the kitchen. "Did you get Dawn off?"

"Yeah, she just left." Buffy turned around, leaning against the door and crossing her arms as Willow made herself some toast. "Listen, Will, Dawn said you've been taking care of her, since, well, you know."

Willow busied herself pulling the butter from the refrigerator. "It wasn't that hard, Buffy. Dawn's a good kid. And-and I had the bot to stand in for you, when your dad called. Plus the gang." She twisted a hand in the air. "It really wasn't hard at all." A smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Well, that whole shoplifting thing of Dawn's but we nipped that right in the bud. I charmed some of the stuff she'd taken. Turned her fingers blue for three days."

"Dawn was shoplifting?" Buffy sucked in a deep breath of air.

"Little things," Willow said, nodding. "You know, a lipstick, some stuff from the magic shop. She returned everything to Giles that she took from there and he gave her a stern lecture." Willow turned to face Buffy. "Dawny cried." She pursed her lips. "Then I made her take everything else back and she had to pay for what she'd taken. It was hard for her." Her toast popped up and she plucked the slices from the toaster, dropping them on a plate.

"Thanks for handling that, Will," Buffy said.

"You're welcome," Willow said solemnly then her smile reappeared. "But Dawn's learned her lesson. No stealing. No cutting classes."

"She was doing that?"

"You told me about that before Glory took her, remember?" Willow asked gently.

"Oh, yeah. N-nothing since then, right?" Buffy asked, thinking, Glory did exist. She did take Dawn. That much hadn't changed.

"Nope." Willow slathered her toast with butter and pulled out a jar of jelly from the fridge. "Have you eaten anything yet?" She spread jelly onto the bread.

Buffy's hands fluttered, almost of their own accord. "Nerves, or something. I can't, don't want anything yet."

"Because of Wesley and the demon?" Willow bit into her toast.

"That, too." Buffy pushed off the door to pace the small area. "I had a dream, Will, last night. Maybe it was a nightmare, but," she hesitated, looking at her friend, "maybe it wasn't."

"It seemed pretty bad, since you ran out of the house. Wanna share it?" Riley walked into the kitchen, his hair still tousled. He looked like he'd just gotten up and headed downstairs. Well, except for the addition of the t-shirt. He hadn't been sleeping in a shirt, just drawstring pants as far as Buffy remembered.

"It-ah, I'd kinda like to talk to Giles about it," Buffy said, dropping her eyes.

Riley said, "Oh." Willow moved so he could get a cup out of the cabinet. He poured himself some coffee. "Personal, huh?"

"Strange," Buffy said, shooting him an apologetic glance.

"How strange?" Riley asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Buffy has prophetic dreams," Willow said, then, when Buffy glared at her, waving her hands, she amended, "but this probably isn't one of them."

"Okay," Riley said with a short laugh. "What sort of non-prophetic dream was this?"

"It wasn't anything," Buffy said, trying to downplay it.

"So? Spill it." Riley eyed her over the rim of his cup.

The telephone rang before she was forced to answer. She grinned sheepishly and pointed. "Phone. I'll get it," Buffy said, darting from the room. She could feel Riley's eyes boring into her back and she slipped around the wall to answer the phone and get rid of that sensation. "Hello?"

"Ah, hello. Buffy?"

"Giles." She leaned against the wall. "What'd Wesley have to say?"

"He said for you to come up whenever you can. Lorne, the psychic, is available whenever you are. So if you have nothing planned for today, I can drive you, if you'd like."

Buffy twisted the cord around her fingers. "I'd like, Giles. When can we leave?"

"S-soon. I can meet you at your house, in an hour?"

"An hour is good." She didn't have to force warmth in her voice. "Thank you for this, Giles."

"Oh, anything to h-help set your mind at ease, Buffy," Giles said. "I shall see you shortly."

"Bye," Buffy said, replacing the receiver in its cradle. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the windows in front of her.

"Buffy? You okay?" Willow laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah." Buffy smiled at her friend. "Giles is picking me up to take me to see that psychic in an hour. Maybe he'll have some answers for me."

"That'd be good." Willow leaned on the wall next to her. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"I don't know how long we'll be gone. Someone ought to be here when Dawn gets home," Buffy said tentatively.

"How about me?" Riley asked, appearing in the doorway, coffee mug still in his hand.

"You wouldn't mind?" Buffy asked softly.

"Nah. Gives me some time to bond with Dawn." He gestured at the pair of women. "It should be Willow going with you, Buffy. I'll be okay here. I can mow the lawn for you. It's getting a little leggy."

"That'd be great," Willow said. "Thanks, Riley."

"No problem."

"I guess I'd better get changed, then," Willow said. "Figure out what one wears to meet a psychic." She slipped past Riley and they could hear her climb the stairs.

"Yeah," Buffy said, twining her fingers together. "I...that's...I really appreciate this, Riley." She had a hard time looking at him and knew he knew it.

"Anytime, Buffy." He gave her a tender smile. "I just want to make this right for you. And I hope you'll let me."

"Riley," Buffy said softly, "I know you don't understand but things really were different where I'm from."

He shook his head, reaching out to take one of her hands in his. "No, they weren't, Buffy. I know that I loved you, wherever you came from. And if there was another version of me, he loved you too, the same way I do, with all his heart and soul. I can tell by the way you react to me that I, he, must've made some mistakes. I hope you can look past those mistakes, to see me."

Buffy looked down at their hands, the ring sparkling on her finger. Riley loved her. And she had, well, cared for Riley. A part of her understood why he did what he'd done, back in her world. She didn't like it, could never like it, him risking his life to do what he thought would give him insight into her relationship with Angel. She wondered again if this Riley had done the same thing. Somehow, she thought not. There had never been an Angel to compare Riley to. "I'll try," she said.

"Thanks." Riley lifted her hand and kissed it softly. "That's all I'm asking for." He squeezed her fingers and released them, stepping aside and gesturing. "You'd better get ready. I know Giles hates waiting."

"Yeah." Buffy smiled a little, walking past him and up the stairs to her room, thoughts rolling around in her head.

* * *

Part 3

Gunn threw a knife into a dartboard across the room. It hit just inside the outer bulls-eye with a satisfying 'thunk.'

"Watch it!" Doyle shielded his head with his arms, glaring at the other man.

"I was nowhere near hitting your little demon head, Doyle," Gunn said as he walked across the room to retrieve the knife.

"Close enough," Doyle said, then hooked his thumb at the office door. "What's up with Wes?"

"Visitors coming today," Gunn said, checking over the blade. He tucked it back into its sheath. "Someone from...Riverdale?"

Fred, watching them with bright eyes, lit up even more. "Archie and Veronica and Betty live there."

"Huh?" Doyle asked.

"The classics, man," Gun said, shaking his head. "Don't you know nothing?" He swatted Doyle's shoulder, nearly staggering the smaller man. "C'mon. Let's go talk to English. Fred, you coming?"

She bounced off the couch and joined the trio as they entered the office. Wesley sat behind the desk, a light positioned just so above the book he was reading with a magnifying glass. Another text, something that looked like a little scrap of leather, weighted down so it wouldn't roll up, rested on a board in his lap. He consulted one, then the other, occasionally taking the time to scribble something rapidly on a legal pad.

Gunn cleared his throat. "English, hate to barge in when you're cramming for that big exam, but we've got questions."

"Hm?" His concentration broken, Wesley blinked and set aside the magnifying glass, peering at them owlishly.

"We heard there'll be visitors," Doyle said, his nose all but twitching.

"From Riverdale," Fred chimed in, grinning.

"Wherever did you hear...Sunnydale," Wesley said, giving up. "Buffy is coming from Sunnydale." He set aside the text in his lap and tapped the scroll with a careful finger. "She is coming with her Watcher, a Mr. Rupert Giles and possibly others."

"So, Betty," Gunn said.

"Buffy," Wesley corrected, frowning slightly as Fred giggled.

"The Archies," she said in explanation as if the two Brits would get it from that reference.

Doyle shrugged. "I don't have a clue, Wes," he said.

"Damn silly name, Buffy. She's coming to L.A. to visit?" Gunn asked patiently.

Wesley closed his book in exasperation, wondering what part of "I'm going to work in my office for a while" his crew had failed to understand when he told them earlier. "Buffy Summers is the Slayer."

"Slayer? Wasn't that crazy chick you told me about a Slayer? The one who tortured you?" Gunn asked. He shifted his weight, his hand unconsciously dropping to the knife sheathed in his belt.

"Got it in one," Doyle said, tapping the side of his nose.

"Tortured?" Fred hugged herself, her face crumpling.

"It's okay, Fred," Doyle said, touching her arm. "Faith ain't gonna hurt anyone for a long time." She didn't seem to believe him so he went on. "Faith turned herself into the authorities." He nodded, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "She's in England, under the Watchers' care. Still, I think the girl's batty."

"Who's batty?" The woman who appeared next to Fred was taller, a lot better built and had eyes like blue laser beams. Wesley knew that Gunn admired her a great deal, especially since she'd quit the police force. Or been fired, depending on who was telling the story. Whatever the reason, he was happy she'd agreed to join his team. He needed someone else who had a good handle on weapons. While Wesley considered himself a fair hand with a crossbow, even an axe, neither he nor Doyle packed much when it came to the punch. And Fred, though her inventions were handy, if not a tad peculiar, was not one for a battle.

"Faith," Doyle said succinctly.

Kate snorted. "I'll go with that," she said, lounging against the wall and crossing her arms.

"She was a very troubled young woman," Wesley reminded them.

"Troubled?" Kate snorted. "That's a description for it. Raving mad is another one. Why are we discussing Faith? Did she escape her cage in England?"

"Do you remember Buffy Summers, Kate?" Wesley leaned over his book. "She helped bring Faith to justice."

"If you call being sent to England justice, yeah, I remember her. Little bit of a thing." Kate nodded decisively.

"Well, to put it rather bluntly, Buffy died earlier this year."

"Hold on now, died?" Gunn asked, startled. "But you said she was on her way here. In what, a body bag?" Fred twisted around to look at him, her eyes widening.

"Yes, I did. And no, not in a body bag. In an automobile." Wesley removed his glasses and set them aside to rub the bridge of his nose. "Buffy was brought back to life by magic. The rite of Osiris, I believe, the Egyptian god of the underworld." Wesley settled his glasses back in place and rubbed his chin, considering. "Osiris himself was brought back to life by his wife, Isis after being dismembered by his brother, Set."

"You just gotta love those gods and their wacky ways," Gunn said, shaking his head. "At least with a vamp, you know where you stand. The vamp sees you as dinner, you prove otherwise."

"So, Buffy was dismembered?" Doyle asked, paling.

"That's what I was wondering, too," Fred said, looking a little green.

"No, not dismembered but she did die." Wesley gestured at the text and the book on his desk. "I was researching like rituals."

Kate said dryly, "So Buffy was brought back from the dead. I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we don't really care how."

"That's the interesting part." Wesley capitulated upon seeing their expressions. "At any rate," he went on, smothering his disappointment, "Buffy returned to life. But it appears there is something different about her. Something unexpected. She and her Watcher, Rupert Giles, will be coming here to be introduced to Lorne."

"The Host? Why?" Gunn asked, his face taking on a distinct aversion to the name of the green demon from Pylea.

"To be read, of course," Doyle said. "C'mon, man. If she's different than she was before, Lorne might be able to help figure out why."

Wesley nodded. "That was my recommendation," he said.

"There's more," Kate said. Her police training enhanced her natural suspicions. She was able to read any of them, even Fred, as if they were open books. Wesley was glad he had never agreed to play poker with her, Gunn and Doyle. Between the three of them, he was sure he would lose not only his shirt but also every other article of clothing he had available.

"Well, yes," Wesley said with a scowl.

"So? Spill, English," Gunn said.

Wesley got to his feet, lining up the edge of the book he'd been perusing with the edge of the desk. His fingers traced the strange lettering on the cover. Finally, he lifted his head, taking the time to meet each of their gazes. He was protective of them, wouldn't ask for them to do anything that would put his team in danger without risking himself. Even for Buffy Summers. "Buffy has different memories than those of her colleagues," Wesley said. "Specifically, she remembers a person that none of the others, nor I, actually, have any recollection of."

"False memories?" Doyle asked, curious now.

"Perhaps." Wesley leaned back against his desk and folded his arms. "But Mr. Giles believes something else is possible and perhaps more probable. He believes that, while Buffy was brought back to life, somehow, the rite called the wrong Buffy."

"What?" Gunn asked, scoffing.

"How'd they do that?" Doyle asked, his expression was a little wild. "I mean, there're rules about bringin' people back from the dead. First off, it ain't done. Second off, make sure you get the right person. They're sure she's the right person, right Wes? She ain't some monster?"

"No monster," Wesley said. He was pleased someone else brought up the idea that had plagued him, though Mr. Giles had assured him Buffy was no monster. "They believe, perhaps, that this Buffy, or her soul, at any rate, came from an alternate dimension."

"Oh, and they got switched? Kinda like that 'Star Trek' episode where Kirk and Uhura and Bones and Scotty went through the teleporter in an ion storm and wound up in a different dimension?" Fred asked excitedly, somehow managing to get through the sentence without taking a breath.

"Er, yes, that sounds right," Wesley said, dubiously. He'd never seen the appeal in 'Star Trek.' It seemed...too American. 'Sapphire and Steel', 'The Avengers', now those were the programs he watched when he could steal the time.

"So, is she the evil Buffy or the good Buffy?" Doyle asked darkly, obviously picking up on Fred's reference.

"She might be wondering the same thing about us," Kate said, tossing her hair.

"About this person she says she knows but no one else does," Gunn said, waving a hand in the air. "Who is it?"

"He, actually," Wesley said. "A, er, vampire, to be exact."

Gunn lifted his eyebrows. "So? Once less vamp in our world. Not seeing the bad here, English."

Wesley picked up his legal pad, giving himself something to focus on. The next part seemed fantastical even to him. "It seems that this vampire was rather, er, special."

"Special how?" Kate asked.

"Well, that he was a well-documented killer, for one thing," Wesley said, ignoring his friends' comments on that matter. "But the truly peculiar thing that Buffy states is that this vampire was her, er, companion, if you will."

"Companion?" Gunn lifted his eyebrows. "The spin you're putting on that word doesn't sound good, Wes. Just how much of a 'companion' was this vampire to her?"

"See? She is Evil Buffy," Doyle muttered.

"Doyle," Wesley said sharply. "The Slayer is a warrior of the Powers That Be, as we all are. You could consider her to be the original warrior. But Buffy seems to have memories of a vampire with a soul."

"Oh, now that's rich," Doyle said, his brogue thickening in his agitation. "Vampire with a soul. Next you're gonna say that the Slayer and he were dating."

"If you really need to know that, then the answer's yes."

The voice was clear and calm and cut through the others like a sharp knife, bringing all of them around to face the strangers in the doorway. Wesley recognized the trio, though it had been over a year since he'd seen any of them and that last was Buffy, when Faith had run to Los Angeles. "Buffy. Mr. Giles. Willow. How good to see you."

"Hey, Wesley," Willow said, smiling brightly.

Wesley remembered she was always cheerful, except for when Faith had shot her boyfriend with a poisoned arrow. Then she was miserable, worried that...what was his name? Oh, yes. Oz. She'd been worried that Oz might die. But they'd researched a cure for the werewolf and he'd been able to fight in the Ascension along with the rest of them.

"Wyndham-Price," Giles said in greeting.

"Wes," Buffy said, her eyes flicking past him to the others.

Wesley stepped forward. "Please do come in. Might I get you something? We have tea and coffee, if you prefer it."

"Nothing for me, thanks," Willow said, waving a hand in dismissal. She looked around the interior of the building. "But this hotel, it's great." She craned her head back to study the ceiling. "Incredible architecture."

"Thank you. Mr. Giles? Buffy?"

"I'm fine," Buffy said.

"As am I," Giles said.

"Right then. I suppose introductions are in order." Wesley provided the introductions for everyone within the room, not missing the way Buffy studied both Kate and Doyle minutely. It was obvious that neither of them missed it either. Kate automatically became more defensive while Doyle tried to make himself invisible.

"I remember you, a little," Buffy said, flicking her gaze from Doyle to Kate and back again. "I argued with you at the police station," she told Kate, "and Doyle and Cordelia were at..." She shook her head abruptly.

"Cordelia?" Doyle's eyes narrowed. "I don't know a Cordelia."

"I, uh, how is Miss Chase?" Wesley asked.

"Fine. She and Xander started dating again," Willow said brightly.

"Surviving the Ascension and Adam brought it all out for them."

"Ah. Well, that's for the best, I suppose," Wesley said. He cleared his throat. "Mr. Giles, I have reviewed some of my texts. If you'd like to go over them with me, perhaps we could come to some sort of conclusion about where Buffy's from, and whether there is a way to return her there."

"Go back?" Buffy took a step towards Wesley. "Really?"

He dropped his head, pulled off his glasses and said, "Perhaps. There is a slim chance, Buffy. But without the ritual that brought you here-"

"Oh, I have it," Willow said, fishing in her purse. "Giles said you might want it." She pulled forth a sealed envelope and handed it over. "What about us? Do you need us, too?"

"What? No, I already contacted Lorne, he's expecting you." Wesley said. "But, Mr. Giles, if you could stay and explain the ritual to me?"

Willow raised her hand shyly. "Uh, Wesley? I did the ritual."

"You did?" He coughed, hiding his surprise behind his fist. "Oh, of course. I do remember something about you being a magic user."

"Wiccan," Willow said gently.

"A-and...you did the complete ritual?" Wesley shot a look at Giles, who wore a faintly disproving expression on his face.

"Yes," Willow said. Her head drooped and her red hair swung down and into her face. "I...thought I was doing a good thing." She gestured towards Buffy. "B-but now we've got the wrong Buffy, and..."

"It's okay, Will," Buffy said. She mustered a smile that touched her eyes briefly. Wesley wondered at that. He remembered Buffy being quite emotional about every part of her life. This girl was not the one he remembered from his days in Sunnydale.

"Yeah, but..." Willow sighed.

"Well, perhaps you should be the one to remain here with me and you, Mr. Giles, should accompany Buffy to meet Lorne."

Buffy and her Watcher exchanged glances. "Of course, if you want me to," he said, as if she had asked the question out loud.

"Thanks," she said and turned her attention back to Wesley, firming up her gaze. "So. Where are we going?"

"I'm to take you there," Doyle said, raising his hand. "Don't know if you'd like to go in my car, or take yours."

"A hint? Take yours," Gunn said. "Don't know when he last cleaned that thing."

"Like your truck is in any better shape," Doyle shot back.

"Gentlemen," Wesley said. "Kindly refrain from round one hundred-ten of the Doyle-Gunn match up until Buffy has met Lorne?"

Both subsided to their respective corners. Giles lifted an eyebrow at them and said, "I-I believe we'll take my car. If you will lead the way, Mr. Doyle?"

"Mr. Doyle? Huh-uh, just Doyle. Mr. Doyle is somebody I don't know." Doyle bobbed his head. "Sure. C'mon." He waved at them both to follow him.

"You'll be okay, Will?" Buffy asked her friend, reaching out but not quite touching Willow's arm.

"Oh, sure, you go ahead and find out what's going on." She made a shooing motion. "I'll be okay here with Wesley."

"We'll take good care of her, Buffy," Wesley said. "You go along with Doyle."

"Okay," Buffy said, albeit reluctantly. She and Mr. Giles followed Doyle through the hotel and down the stairs to the parking garage.

"So. That's a Slayer," Gunn said.

"Yep," Willow said, nodding. "That's our Buffy." Her face creased. "Or a version of her, at least." She turned a concerned gaze at Wesley. "Do you think out Buffy's still alive? Somewhere else? M-maybe the me of that world tried to bring her back and got ours? Maybe we can switch them?"

Wesley took off his glasses and polished them, trying to buy some time before he was forced to answer. Fred beat him to it. "On 'Star Trek', everyone got to switch back," she said, going to Willow and patting her on the shoulder carefully.

Willow dredged up a smile at Fred, though her words were anything but cheery. "This is real life."

* * *

Part 4

Buffy rode in the back seat of Giles' car, not quite listening to the running discussion Doyle and Giles were having. Something about a cricket match, she thought, though she thought she remembered Willow telling her once that she was surprised Angel liked Giles. Something about the Irish and the English fighting and old grudges running deep. Buffy almost wished she'd paid attention but whatever Willow had told her didn't seem to matter to Doyle any more than it had Angel.

She traced her fingers along the seams of the seat, the scenes blurring by outside the window. Something else she couldn't find any interest in. Once upon a time, she'd be thrilled to be back in L.A. Now it didn't seem to matter. Nothing much did. She couldn't quite get a grip on this living thing any more. Oh, put a stake in her hand and she could still go out patrolling. But being around the people who once meant everything to her, that was the hard part.

"We're here, princess," Doyle said, breaking into her thoughts.

She startled, blinking up at him, then peering around at the area outside the car. Giles was already getting out so she followed him, automatically shading her eyes from the bright light. She fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses, feeling better when she had them on.

"Exactly where are we, Mr. Doyle?" Giles asked the question she'd wanted to.

"Just Doyle," he corrected again, then hastily went on. "I know it don't look like much, Mr. Giles, Buffy. But Caritas is a pretty big name in town." He waved a hand at them, heading for a doorway in one of the buildings.

"I'm not sure this was all that good an idea, Buffy," Giles said, a frown settling on his face.

She shrugged. "It's the best one we've got, isn't it?" She started after Doyle, who held the door for her. "Thanks," she said.

"Watch your step."

Buffy was glad he'd given her the warning as the descending stairs were not the best lit and coming in from outside and the brightness, well, she was just as happy she didn't fall down into the club. Sounds of hammers thumping and saws whirring rose to meet her as she made her way down the stairs, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. She could hear Giles and Doyle following behind her. Still, she proceeded with caution. Despite Doyle and Wesley's trust in this demon, she'd never actually met one she liked.

Well, she thought, Spike was okay. Chipped. At least he was mostly predictable. Give him a mug full of blood and 'Passions' on TV and he was happy. She tried not to think about the other thing that would make Spike happy. It would've been nice if this Spike didn't have a crush on her, too but that seemed to be asking too much from the universe. Buffy paused on the last step, looking around at the chaos of the club. Tables were pushed far away from the center of the room. All the lights were on overhead, not just a friendly bar light or two; enough so the workers could do their jobs. And their jobs seemed to be repairing a rather large hole in what looked to be a stage and part of a wall.

A green...demon in what reminded Buffy frighteningly of her mother's favorite silk lounging pajamas stood with one of the carpenters, another demon, who's face seemed to be made up of oatmeal, with two little raisins for eyes. The green one was gesturing with one hand at the work oatmeal-face was doing.

"Good heavens, what happened in here?" Giles asked, adjusting his glasses.

Doyle waved a hand at the destruction casually. "This's where we wound up after returning from Pylea. Didn't know Gunn's truck would land here. We're just lucky we didn't take out the whole wall."

"I-I see," Giles said, though from the expression on his face, he didn't. "And...what happened to Gunn's truck?"

"Now that's the funny part," Doyle said, warming to his story. "See, us being below ground here in Caritas, to get Gunn's truck out was a real Herculean feat. In fact it took-"

"Doyle?" The green demon noticed them standing by the bar and sauntered over. "I'm so glad you're here. You know this lingo, don't you? I don't think I speak 'carpenter'. I know I ordered sturdy walls, you know, in case another little mishap happens?

Not that I'm blaming you and your friends, it just seems that trouble follows you all like a bad penny." He smiled, showing an amazing amount of white teeth. "And you must be the Slayer." He offered her his hand.

Buffy accepted it, hoping her reluctance didn't show. "I must be," she said, trying a smile on for size. It didn't seem to fit and she gave up on it.

"And the Watcher, too." The demon looked Giles over and stuck out his hand. "We hear a lot about you two in L.A." He shook Giles' hand and smiled at Buffy again. "I have to admit, I don't envy either of you. Sitting atop a hellmouth? That's gotta be some sort of stress."

Doyle folded his arms, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched the proceedings. "Mr. Giles, Buffy, this's Lorne. Lorne, Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles."

"Rupert. Now that's an interesting name," the demon said. "I knew some folks once with Watcher blood in their family. Émigrés to Australia. Now there's a place you wouldn't want to go, missy," he said, patting Buffy's shoulder familiarly. "No place for vampires to hide, really; all that sun; but those bugs and poisonous snakes?" He shuddered and draped an arm casually around Giles' shoulders.

Giles actually looked ready to bolt. Buffy amazed herself by smiling at his discomfort. Giles, not quite sure what to do. Wonders would never cease. And Willow wasn't here to see it. She suddenly regretted her friend not being here with her. "I, uh, yes?" Giles babbled, then coughed, getting control of himself. "Yes, Mr. Lorne, is it?"

"Oh, honey, Lorne is fine." He moved around behind the bar. "Can I get you anything to drink? On the house."

"Ah, it's a little early to be drinking," Giles said.

"A pint of Guinness," Doyle said, leaning his elbows on the bar.

"I should've known," Lorne said, rolling his eyes at the Irishman. He found the required beer and a cold glass, thumping them down in front of Doyle. "Here you are. The next one you pay for." He turned his attention back to Giles and Buffy as Doyle protested this treatment. "I'm ignoring you," he said, then, "Tea? I do have some Earl Grey somewhere in here. There's a lovely Twyleth Teg who comes in regularly and that's all she'll drink."

"Yes, please," Giles said. He frowned at Loren. "A Twyleth Teg? Truly?"

"She and the kitsune get together and belt out an amazing Heart medley." Lorne turned his red eyes to her. "And you, sweetie?"

Buffy stepped up to the bar. "I'm fine, Lorne, thanks." She looked over her shoulder as the demon fussed with the makings for Giles' tea, watching the carpenters work.

"Wesley filled me in a little bit," Lorne's voice carried and she turned around. "He said that you've come back from the dead recently." He reached out and patted her hand. "That had to be rough."

Buffy looked at the green hand covering her own. "You have no idea," she said softly.

"Well, I just hope I can help you. I mean, it'd be quite a feather in my cap, me helping a Slayer, especially one as famous as you are."

"Famous?" That brought her head up and Buffy frowned at Lorne. "What do you mean?"

"Well, how many apocalypses do you have to face before you become famous? I just wanted to let you know, I'm rooting for you, little girl."

"Thanks," she said as Lorne went back to finding the fixings for Giles' tea.

"Okay," Lorne said, handing over a tray with a pretty little teapot and a cup to match, as well as cream and sugar. "Let's get to it, sweetie." He clapped his hands, irritated that the construction crew didn't pay any attention. "Hmph. This isn't going to work. I won't be able to hear you anyway. That truck of Gunn's destroyed the acoustics." He gave Doyle and Giles an apologetic glance. "Do you mind if I take Buffy into my rooms? I'll be able to do the reading there."

"B-Buffy?" Giles asked.

"It's okay, Giles," she said, touched again at his concern. She patted his arm. "I'm a big girl."

"All right, we'll wait here, then," Giles said, settling onto a bar stool.

"No going behind the bar to filch beer," Lorne said, wagging a finger at Doyle.

"I'm wounded," Doyle said, clutching at his heart.

"Uh, huh. Come on, sweetie." Lorne motioned for her to come with him, opening a door that was half-hidden by a curtain of streamers. "It's just back this way," he said, ushering her through.

Buffy walked down a short hall, past a storeroom and into a bedroom that reminded her of something from...she wasn't sure what. She turned slowly in place as Lorne fussed with the lights. "There," he said. "Now, sweetie, make yourself comfortable." Catching her look, he grinned. "This won't hurt, I promise. But I do need you to do something for me."

"What?" Buffy asked cautiously.

"Sing."

"Sing?"

"It's how I read you. Don't worry, even if you don't sing well, hey, I'm used to it. If you can sing, that's a bonus for me." Lorne cocked his head to one side. "Do you need some sort of accompaniment? I've got a little karaoke machine around here somewhere."

"There isn't any other way? Really?" Buffy asked, thinking this was about the strangest thing she'd ever heard.

He favored her with a wry smile. "That's what I need to read you. I don't know, comes with the territory, I guess." He lifted his hands in a 'what can you do' kind of way. "Do you want me to put on the machine?"

"How much do I have to sing?" Buffy asked.

"Well, you know, I really like to have you sing a whole song." Lorne sighed. "It usually helps with the readings, gives time for the images to come."

If it weren't so weird and so right, Buffy knew she'd be laughing. But the idea of a demon with horns and green skin needing her to sing so he could tell her future, it made some sick sort of sense. She wondered if Oz knew about this place. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "But I'll have you know that the last time I sang for anyone, it was myself, in the shower."

"The acoustics are usually best there," Lorne said. "Do you want some music?"

She surrendered with a sigh. "What've you got that I might know?"

* * *

Part 5

Sleeping was sometimes not an option during the daylight hours but when Spike could get in a good nap, it made him all that more refreshed during the night. He hadn't been sleeping too well lately, too many plots running through his mind. He was so engrossed in them the sound of the crypt door creaking open startled him.

He rolled off the bed, reaching automatically for the fire poker he'd found on one of his excursions, raising then lowering it when he saw who it was. "What're you doin' here, little bit?"

"School's out," Dawn said, dumping her backpack off her shoulder as she pulled the door closed behind her. "Thought I'd stop by."

"Shouldn't you be at home, with the sis?" Spike tossed aside the poker, rummaging around for his smokes. He thought briefly about putting on a shirt, the kid was eyeing his chest, then decided not to bother. No skin off his nose if she wanted to get an eyeful. He popped a fag in his mouth and lit up, taking a drag on the cigarette.

"She's in L.A.," Dawn said with a shrug, walking over to flop into the easy chair he'd filched from behind a furniture store.

"L.A.?" Spike blew smoke at the ceiling. "Visiting your pops?"

Dawn traced her finger over the design in the fabric. "No." She turned her attention to him, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "Something about a demon there, who can tell the future. She's gone to see him."

"She has, has she?" Spike rolled his shoulders. "Couldn't get that from Red? Ain't she playin' with Tarot?"

The girl shrugged. "Maybe. But this demon's different. I think she was gonna ask him about that vampire."

Spike blinked but otherwise showed no reaction and was pleased at that. "Angel?" he scoffed. "Thought she'd given up on that pipe dream." He slid off his bed and paced around the room, neatly avoiding the windows with the light streaming through them as he walked.

"She really wants to know about him, Spike," Dawn said. She followed him, turning halfway around in the chair to keep him in sight. "I thought maybe you knew something."

"Guess again, little bit," Spike said. "Never knew a vampire named Angel or Angelus, for that matter. Pretty stupid name for a vamp, anyhow. Angel. Huh." He puffed at the cigarette, careful to avoid meeting Dawn's eyes. She was a sharp little thing. She'd caught him in a couple of lies before. Though it wasn't really a lie. He didn't know any vampire named Angel. Samael on the other hand pretty much fit the description the Slayer had given them, bloodline and all. Wouldn't he laugh, to hear that his counterpart in another dimension was the Slayer's lap dog? Vampire with a soul. How foolish was that? Still, it was something he wanted to know more about.

Dawn slumped in her chair, obviously disappointed. She pulled at a strand of her dark hair, studying the ends as he wandered back to his bed and dropped onto it. "Say, how's about you tell me about this curse thing," he said. "What's big sis got to say about it?"

The teen shrugged. "Not much, just that this Angel was cursed with a soul." Her eyes brightened. "Do you know anything about it?"

"No, that's why I asked you," he said, enunciating clearly.

Dawn made a face at him and dropped back into her slump. "Anyway, I think she hopes this demon can tell her about Angel. I hope for her sake he does, one way or another. I don't like seeing her mope around, you know?"

"She's doin' her job," Spike said. He'd followed Buffy enough to know that. Though she refused to allow him to accompany her on her rounds, he tailed her but he always made a fuss when Rupert or Red asked him to. Didn't want them to think he enjoyed watching the Slayer work. Sometimes it made him itch to take her on, in more ways than one. She was a hot little thing. Worked him up just being in the same room as her. Little sis smelled a bit like her, but not the same. Still, it was one of the reasons he didn't mind her coming around, besides the fact that he liked Dawn. She, like her sister, treated him like a man, not a monster.

"But she's not the same, Spike," Dawn was saying. "She's," she tossed her hands in the air. "Different. Like a whole other person. She doesn't seem to care any more. It's weird. It's scary."

"She did come back from the dead. That's gotta be a change," Spike said. "Know it was for me."

"Yeah, but you came back from the dead to the undead," Dawn said, then gave him an apologetic glance. "Sorry. But Buffy came back alive."

"Told you that they never come back the same, don't matter what ritual Red used to bring her back. If your mum had come back, you'd've seen." He pointed the glowing tip of his cigarette at her, then used it to light up another.

"It's not like she's bad," Dawn said, almost talking to herself "But she acts so different around Riley. And she keeps looking at Cordy and Oz like, I don't know. And Jenny?" She shook her head. "Like a ghost, like she's always surprised to see her. It hurts Jenny, I know. And Giles, but he doesn't say anything."

"Give it time. Maybe she'll get over it." Spike blew a smoke ring into the air and smiled in self-satisfaction as it hovered over his head.

"What if she doesn't, Spike? What then?" Dawn got out of her chair, obviously miserable at the idea. "I'd better go. I'm sure Willow'll be looking for me."

Spike watched as she gathered up her pack, slipping it on. "Niblet? I wouldn't worry too much about the Slayer. She can take care of herself."

Dawn pushed the door open. "Yeah." She smiled. "And she has all of us to help her, right?" She waved and disappeared into the sunlight.

Spike stared after her, the afterimage of Dawn passing through the door burned into his retinas. Slowly, he got to his feet and moved away from the bed, absently picking up the poker again. Twirling it in his hands, he brought it down heavily on the table next to the chair Dawn had vacated. The table shattered, flinders of wood flying in all directions. He smashed it again, kicking the largest piece against the crypt wall.

A seer. He'd never expected her to go that far.

Hands trembling, Spike threw aside the poker, hearing it clang against the wall. Picking up his cigarettes, he lit another one, stuffing it into his mouth. He found a shirt and shrugged into it, throwing on his jacket. Going to the rug stretched across the floor, he kicked it out of the way and revealed a hidden doorway. Opening it, Spike dropped into the hole. He pulled the door closed and started into the sewers.

The seer could ruin all his plans. He needed a drink and he needed it now.

* * *

Part 6

Lorne guided Buffy out of the back rooms and into the main area of the club, Giles starting from his stool as they appeared. "B-Buffy?" he asked, reaching out for her then hesitating. The carpenters stared at this exchange curiously before the Host turned on them.

"Shouldn't you be working?" he asked.

With a few mumbles, they went back to their jobs, leaving the quartet in relative peace. "Maybe you oughtta give 'em a break, Lorne," Doyle said, motioning with a head tilt at the Slayer. "She might need a minute."

"Good idea." Lorne waved at one of the demons. "Take fifteen minutes, boys. On the clock." He rolled his eyes as he turned back to the others, the demons taking advantage of this unexpected break and disappearing. "I know I'll never hear the end of that one."

The girl stood still, her head bowed. Doyle felt his heart go out to her, even though he barely knew her. She looked so tired, so defeated. And it wasn't in him to not want to help. "Hey, princess," he said. "Did you find out anything?"

"Y-yes, Buffy, what news?" the Watcher asked.

Her shoulders twitched and she lifted her eyes, so huge in her pale face. Her expression was dazed, like she'd witnessed something horrible and while she couldn't do anything about it, the fact that she couldn't hadn't quite sunk in yet. "Giles?" she said, her voice tiny and lost.

"I'm here, Buffy," he said and this time he did touch her, taking her upper arms in his hands. She melted against him, burying her face against his chest and clutching at his tweed jacket. Doyle stepped a little away, giving them space. Lorne followed him.

"Poor little thing," Lorne said, shaking his head.

"What happened?" Doyle asked, wishing he could have another beer. It would feel good right about now, a little damper on the emotions pouring off the girl.

"I read her." Lorne sighed heavily, dropping onto the stool Giles had vacated. "She's been through so much, Doyle." He eyed her and the Watcher. "She's got so much yet she's got to do." He turned his attention to Doyle. "She was ripped from heaven and brought here."

"Wha-heaven?" Doyle stabbed a finger at the little blonde. "Her?"

Lorne made a sharp shushing motion. "Quiet! Her friends don't know. She doesn't want them to. I probably shouldn't have told you, knowing how you are. So you'd better keep that Irish yap of yours closed."

"Closed and locked," Doyle said, staring at her. What must that have felt like, to return from heaven?

"There's more," Lorne said.

"Oh, of course, there would be." Doyle slumped against the bar. "I think I need another drink, Lorne."

To his surprise, Lorne went around behind the bar and pulled another Guinness from the stash back there, mixing himself some red drink with a paper umbrella and a shish kebob of fruit. "You're not the only one," the demon said, at Doyle's incredulous expression.

"Must be really bad if you're fronting me a second beer," Doyle said, though he poured it into his mug before Lorne had a chance to change his mind.

"I would give anything not to be that girl," Lorne said. "I don't think I could stand it. In a nutshell? Her life sucks."

"Truly." Doyle studied the Watcher and the Slayer, moved a little away, sitting at one of the booths. The girl looked utterly defeated. Not the look he wanted to see on a warrior for the side of good.

"Truly. Since she's been the Slayer, she got kicked out of school. Her parents got divorced. She died. She broke her boyfriend's curse-her boyfriend was a vampire with a soul, by the way-and he became evil and killed a friend of hers. She had to kill him-the vampire," Lorne said.

"With the soul, yeah, I'm getting that. Wes mentioned him at the Hyperion," Doyle said. "But vampires don't have souls."

"This one did," Lorne said firmly. He sighed. "Maybe I'm a big softy but that girl has had so much heaped on her...the vampire came back from hell, did I mention that? But he left her after she nearly killed another Slayer, what was her name?"

"Faith?" Doyle asked.

"You've heard of her?"

"She went after Wes and tortured him a couple of years back," Doyle said. "Not a pretty time. Buffy, there, came to L.A. to stop her."

"Okay, well, that explains a little of it, I guess." Lorne took an absent sip of his drink. "Anyway. She got another guy after the vampire left but he left her, too. And then her mother died and she found out her sister wasn't her sister but some weird key to another hell dimension and she died again."

"Whew."

"Those are the highlights," the green demon said warningly.

"So, is anything good going to happen to her?" Doyle asked.

Lorne took a larger gulp of his drink. "Now she's here," he said, as if he hadn't heard the question. "She can't get back to her world, Doyle."

"Why? I mean, some magic brought her through, why can't some magic send her back?"

His smile was pained. "That's just it, Francis."

The use of his given name made Doyle pause. He shot the Slayer and her Watcher another look as Lorne went on. "Her world...since she didn't come back, since they weren't able to raise her there? Her world as she knew it is gone."

* * *

The ride back to Sunnydale seemed to take longer than two hours. Buffy sat in the back seat of the car, completely shut down. Willow glanced at her, wishing there was something she could do but Buffy huddled in on herself, staring sightlessly out the window, not speaking. When Willow looked to Giles, he'd shaken his head, warning her silently against saying anything to Buffy. So she sat, her hands knotted in her lap, throwing looks over her shoulder, for the entire drive.

"W-would you like to be taken home, Buffy?" Giles asked as they entered Sunnydale.

Willow watched as her friend uncoiled a little, blinking at the question. Finally, Buffy said, "No." Her head dropped forward until her chin rested on her chest. "I-I guess the magic shop. I can tell everyone there, right?"

"That's an excellent idea," Giles said warmly.

Willow frowned slightly and sank back into the passenger seat. She wasn't sure at all that Buffy should share whatever happened in L.A. Something bad had happened, she knew that. Maybe Buffy needed some time to digest it, to go over it before she had to tell everyone. But it was her decision. "You know, Buffy," she said hesitantly, "you don't have to tell us right now. You, you could take a day. Or two, even."

"Thanks, Will, but I think I'd rather get it over with."

"Are you sure?" Willow twisted around again.

Buffy flicked her eyes up at the question, biting her lip in an attempt to hold back her emotions. "Yeah," she whispered hoarsely.

Giles parked his car and they all got out. "Um, Willow, if you would make the calls, gather everyone together?"

"Sure," she said. "B-but, Xander'll still be at work, and Cordy. And Oz is still in class." She wanted to reach out to Buffy but her friend stood too far away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She looked like she was in so much pain.

"Ah, yes," Giles said, removing his glasses, polishing them on a handkerchief. "Well, p-please, go ahead and make the calls."

"I-I think I'm gonna go for a walk," Buffy said hesitantly.

"A-are you sure, Buffy?" Giles asked.

"Yeah, I mean, do you wanna talk? We could, you know, talk if you want," Willow said, trying to restrain herself from touching Buffy, who just somehow gave the impression that she didn't want to be touched. Willow thought Buffy looked like a puppy that'd been kicked, too fragile to be left alone. Which was silly, because, well, Slayer, but still, her best friend and just a girl faced with another impossible situation. Willow suddenly wished she'd never done the rite of Osiris. If only she'd known how much pain it would cause.

"Thanks, Will," Buffy said, trying to smile. "But I think I just wanna be alone for a while." She tilted her eyes up at Giles. "Unless you think I should stay."

"No, no, if you feel you need the time," he said, tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket and settling his glasses back on his face.

"When should I be back?"

"Oh, it'll take a little bit of time," Willow said, checking her watch. "A couple of hours?"

Buffy nodded. "I'll be back." She seemed to move farther away without taking a step. "See ya."

"Bye," Willow said, aborting the desire to give Buffy a hug. Giles and she watched as Buffy walked away from them, breaking into a run before she reached the end of the block. "I should go with her," she whispered.

"You'd never be able to keep up," Giles said, not unkindly. "Come inside, there's nothing further we can do out here."

Willow reluctantly followed him inside the shop. She wished she could have gone with Buffy, seen the seer. Maybe, if she'd been there, she could've offered Buffy comfort. Maybe she could've helped in some way. She sighed heavily, the door closing behind her. All she could do now was wait until Buffy came back and call their friends.

It wasn't much, but at least she could do something.

Jenny smiled at them both but her expression took on a worried cast as she realized that the third person of their party was missing. "Rupert? Willow? Where's Buffy?"

"I-I'm afraid that the seer gave her bad news," Giles said, removing his glasses again, this time to rub the bridge of his nose. "She isn't taking it well."

"Why should she?" Willow asked. "She shouldn't have to take it well." She felt all the anger at her stupid plan, bring the Slayer back from the dead, rise up and choke her. "God! Why was I so dumb? I should've never done that ritual. I mean, I got the wrong person. I got the wrong Buffy."

"Willow, don't blame yourself," Giles said, pressing his hands on her shoulders. "You weren't to know what would happen."

"But I should've. I should've," she shook her head. "I knew better, Giles. I talked Dawny out of bringing Joyce back but did I listen to my own advice? Nooo, I just went right on ahead and did the unthinkable." Willow flung her hands in the air, backing away from the Watcher. "I thought what I was doing was good but all it's done is hurt Buffy."

"Willow," Jenny said, her voice soothing. "Rupert's right. You didn't know. You couldn't predict what would happen." Her dark eyes met Giles' blue ones. "I'm sure it will all work out."

She buried her face in her hands. "What if it doesn't? What if I brought her here and she can't adjust?"

"Th-that is not a possibility. Buffy is a strong young woman, the Slayer in her own dimension, not just this one. Yes, she's been dealt hard blows in the past but she's always come out of them. I have faith that she will rise from this dilemma like a phoenix."

Willow allowed Giles to hug her, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him close. It felt right to be here, with Jenny and Giles. She just wished that Buffy was here with them.


	3. Shattered Images

The city lay before them like a glittering blanket, seeming to spread out forever. Drusilla stared at it in wonder, her eyes bright.

“Tell me again why we need to stop off in L.A. first, Dru,” Samael said, tapping his fingers on the hood of the GTX.

“Whispers,” she said, a smile fluttering on her mouth. “I hear whispers.” Drusilla swayed, as if she heard music to go along with the voices. “They say, ‘come to the City of Angels.’” Her grin sharpened and she whirled back to Samael, clutching at the lapels of his jacket. The fingers of one of her hands crawled up the fabric. “Come and see, they say, see the end of the world.” Dru snapped her teeth at his collarbone affectionately.

Samael snapped back, a little growl rising in his throat. “No other word, baby?” he asked, his large hands settling on her narrow hips, adjusting the fit of her body to his as he leaned back against the heavy car.

Drusilla wriggled closer. “There’s something here for my dark star,” she purred, her voice and eyelids lowering suggestively. “Something wicked.” Her hips rolled in emphasis as she said the last word.

He smiled back, running his tongue along his blunt teeth. “How wicked?” he asked, leaning his face closer to hers, stopping barely a breath away.

“Totally evil,” Drusilla said, raising her open mouth towards his, tempting him to taste her. She rocked her body even nearer, looping an arm around his neck.

“Evil,” Samael repeated, his lips touching hers as he spoke.

“Mm.” Her eyes fluttered closed, then snapped open again as he raised his head from hers abruptly, all senses alert. “People,” she hissed.

“Prey,” Samael said, his voice a low rumble as the car pulled in behind theirs, red and blue lights flashing in sequence.

“How lovely,” Drusilla said, cocking her head to one side as the officer removed himself from the vehicle.

“All right, you two. You’re on restricted property.” The officer stood with his legs apart, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt.

“Are we, officer? I’m sorry, we didn’t realize,” Samael said. Drusilla laughed, keeping herself plastered against him.

“I need you to get into your car and leave.”

“But I like it here,” Drusilla protested. She spun away from Samael, her glossy dark hair flaring out like the hem of her red dress. It almost seemed that fire licked at the top of the grasses where her skirt struck. “All dark and private.”

“She’s a romantic, what can I say?” Samael said, spreading his hands wide.

“Again, sir, I need you to return to your vehicle,” the cop said, his voice tight.

“I understand.” Samael sauntered towards the man, Drusilla drifting behind him, humming loudly. “But you see how lovely she is in the moonlight.” He stepped aside, looking back towards his companion. Her arms high over her head, her lower body undulated as if she made love to a ghost. Her eyes glittered, Drusilla reached down, pulling at the hem of skirt, the red bloody against her pale thigh as she hiked it higher.

“You need to return to your vehicle,” the man said, though his gaze flickered towards Dru as she beckoned to him with one finger. “This is a restricted area.”

Samael slipped up next to the man, vampiric speed making it nearly a flicker as he whispered in the officer’s ear. “She wants you,” he said. Drusilla nodded slowly, releasing the hem of her skirt to run her hand along her body. The other still beckoned to the man. Samael heard him swallow convulsively. “She needs you,” he said, letting his voice become a low rumble.

The cop startled to find Samael at his side. “How did you,” he said then jerked away. “You need to—“

“Return to my vehicle, I know,” Samael said, bored with the familiar refrain. “But that’s just getting so tiring.” He caught the man’s shoulders in his hands. “And you’re starting to bore me.”

Drusilla laughed. “My star doesn’t like to be bored,” she said, wagging her finger at the cop as she moved closer.

“Release me,” the man said, reaching for something on his belt.

“Dru? What do you think?” Samael cocked an eyebrow at the female vampire. She laughed again. “I think she wants to play,” he said, “and I really like her games.”

The scream echoed around the stunted trees for a few seconds, then was cut off abruptly, the sound of two vampires drinking their fill taking its place. Drusilla pulled back first, licking at her rouged lips. She shoved at Samael’s shoulder. “Don’t take it all, my star,” she said, giggling. “Baby wants to play.”

Samael lifted his head, growling at her but allowed her to take their prey from him. She pushed the man against the hood of the police car, stripping him quickly of his weapons belt then loosening his pants. “See how he throbs, my star,” she said, pulling his penis free and roughing it in her tiny hands.

“God,” the man whispered, the word catching in his throat.

“Not quite,” Samael said, leaning next to him to prop him upright. He watched as Dru swooped down, licking at her prey’s erection as if it were a lollypop. The man shuddered and groaned, batting at her weakly. Drusilla rolled her yellow eyes at Samael, her mouth opening wide enough that the moonlight glinted on her fangs. She buried the fangs deep into his penis. Samael caught his arms as he convulsed, ripping the shriek out of his throat as his own fangs settled in there to finish him off.

A short while later, they lay naked on the ground, Drusilla wound closely around Samael, the crickets chirping the only noticeable sound. The body of the officer sprawled near his own car, only his legs visible from this angle. Samael stroked Drusilla’s hair from her face. “You were saying something about the end of the world before we ate?”

She snapped at his fingers playfully, sucking one of his digits into her mouth. “It’s waiting for you, my star. They’re waiting for us now.”

“Well. I guess we’d better get dressed.” Samael pushed her to her feet. “This sounds like the kind of appointment I’d hate to miss.”

* * *

Dusk settled over Sunnydale like a gentle blanket, though the truth of it was always more dangerous than poetic musings of a werewolf bass player. At least, he thought, it wasn’t a full moon. Earlier today, Buffy, Willow and Giles had driven to Los Angeles at the suggestion of Wesley Wyndham-Price, Buffy’s Watcher when she’d been in high school. He’d thought Buffy might be able to get some information from a demon who read souls. Sounded weird, but Oz understood weird. Weird on the Hellmouth was normal. Werewolves, vampires, Slayers; he understood all of that. Demons who read your future by hearing you sing karaoke? Different, but not beyond his ken. Willow was still talking to Giles and Jenny about what she and Wesley had found out about the spell she’d used to bring Buffy back from the dead.

“It’s weird,” Willow was saying, her hands moving almost uncontrollably. “Wesley was so different than in high school. He seemed, I don’t know, human. And the texts he had. He said there would’ve been more, if the office he worked out of hadn’t been bombed.”

“I say,” Giles said, surprised. “I didn’t know about that.”

“What about the ritual?” Jenny asked, her dark eyes concerned for Willow.

The redhead’s face fell. “Wesley looked over the ritual. He said it was right, except for one thing. There was something about a specification? I needed to have had something of Buffy’s, on hand, when I did the spell. Not just a photo, but something personal.” She shook her head, her hair bouncing. “I didn’t have it.”

The bells rang on the shop door and Oz glanced up to see who walked in. “Oh, hey, Buff,” he said.

“Hey, Oz,” she said, her teeth sparkling for a second but no smile evident. She hesitated in the doorway, tucked in on herself, giving off waves of exhaustion. Fear, too, though that wasn’t quite as heavy in her scent. “Hey, everybody.” Buffy lifted a hand and dropped it just as quickly, squaring her shoulders as she entered the shop.

“Buffy! Oh, look, Buffy’s here,” Willow said, twisting around to smile at her friend. Oz pressed his hand against her back, giving her the support he could tell she needed. He could feel the shiver run through her body.

“Hey, Buffy,” Riley said, his voice easy, almost masking the tension that threaded through him. Oz canted his eyes towards the soldier, watching as Riley rose from the chair he’d been sitting in and carefully walked to Buffy. The attraction was there, but one-sided, like a magnet to a piece of iron. Oz filed that away. This wasn’t their Buffy. They all knew that. It was just that she looked so much like their Buffy, even the scent was the same to his nose; it was hard to remember.

“Hey,” Buffy said. She warded him off by ducking her head slightly, stepping past him. Oz wondered if anyone else could see the slight slump in Riley’s shoulders, the way the young man straightened again almost immediately. He wasn’t defeated. Not yet, at least. “I-I guess you want to know what the…demon psychic said.”

“Well, you kind of did call us all together,” Cordelia said.

“How was it, Buffy?” Dawn asked impatiently. “What did you find out?”

“Yeah, tell us. It can’t be that bad, can it?” Xander asked, grinning. That smile fell when Buffy didn’t return it. “It can be?”

“Maybe I’d better start at the beginning,” Buffy said softly. She absently settled into Riley’s chair, perched on the edge, as if ready to run. Her hands knotted together and she stared down at them for a little bit, as if she wasn’t quite sure if they were her hands.

“Buffy, do you need some time?” Jenny asked, worry coloring her warm voice.

The Slayer jerked at that, her wide eyes staring up. “N-no,” she said and tried again. “No. It’s just…hard. Harder than I thought, to tell you. Okay.” She took a deep breath, glanced at her hands again and said, “There are some things you probably aren’t going to want to hear. I-I’m sorry about that.” She looked at all of them quickly. “Y-you might all want to sit down. This might be…a little weird.” She waited until everyone was seated before going on, her eyes fixed on her knees until everyone gathered around her. “First, Riley was right. I’m not your Buffy. I came from another dimension, not too different, obviously. Lorne, the psychic demon, he says he could see my world and it’s not…uh. It wasn’t,” Buffy hesitated and swallowed, shaking her head so her honey brown hair moved around her face. “It’s alike. Slayers, Watchers, werewolves, witches, vampires. Demons.” One of her hands rose to spin in a circle. “The same. I looked through my yearbook the other day, and it’s the same. Same kids, same photos, same signatures. No big difference.”

“Except…the vampire?” Giles asked, his voice level and calm.

“Yeah,” Buffy said, bobbing her head. “Except Angel. Well, a few other changes. We’ve all talked about them. Most of them, at least.” She turned her gaze at them again. Willow trembled under Oz’s hand and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Nothing really major.” He could almost feel the effort it took for her to say that. Buffy bit her lower lip, her forehead crinkling, obviously thinking what she should say next.

“So, this other dimension,” Willow said, leaning forward. “Can we get you back there? I mean, I’m guessing you want to go back.” The corner of her mouth pulled down a little. “Maybe we can find a spell?” She tilted her head to look at Giles.

Buffy’s eyes shimmered and she blinked, clearing them. “I, well, I can’t go back.” She spread her hands, her tone low. “Lorne,” she swallowed and straightened her spine, determined to get through this. “Lorne said that he could see my Willow tried to bring me back, too, but it didn’t work.” Her hands clenched around one another again, her knuckles turning white. “So, because they couldn’t bring me back,” her smile was sickly, “my world isn’t there anymore. My family, my friends; they’re all gone.” She caught back a sob, pressing her hands to her mouth.

“Good lord,” Giles said, his voice a bare whisper. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and circled to Buffy, offering it to her. She took it with trembling hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Buffy curled in on herself, wiping her eyes. Her words were muffled, as much by the fabric as by her emotions. “I-I didn’t want to tell you that you’re stuck with me,” she mumbled.

“B-but, you’re Buffy,” Xander interjected. “You are her and she is you, koo-koo-katchoo.” He waved his hands at the others. “Am I right?”

Dawn slid out of her chair and went to Buffy, kneeling next to her. She laid her hands on Buffy’s knees, looking up into her sister’s face. “You told me it didn’t matter,” she said tightly, giving Buffy’s legs a little shake.

“Oh, Dawny,” Buffy whispered. She brushed at Dawn’s hair.

“We’re not stuck with you,” Willow said, her tone forceful. “We’re not. Xander and Dawn are right. You’re you and that’s what matters. So what if you’ve got a few different memories. You’re Buffy Summers, daughter of Joyce, Dawn’s big sister.”

“The Slayer,” Cordelia chimed in. “And god knows we’ll need one in this town.”

“And we’re all here for you,” Riley said, joining Dawn next to Buffy. “I swear, I’ll be here for you.”

Buffy sniffed, tugging at the handkerchief in her hands. “You don’t hate me, for not being your Buffy?”

“Hello? Are you not listening?” Cordelia waved her hand at Xander, at Willow, at Dawn. “What have they all said? What everybody’s said? You’re Buffy Summers, the Chosen One.”

“Things seem hard right now, Buffy,” Jenny said. “Returning from the dead, finding yourself in a place so like your home but not quite, it has to be strange for you.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Buffy said to the handkerchief in her lap.

“B-but as Riley said, we are here for you. You are still the woman we know,” Giles said.

“We still love you,” Willow said emphatically.

“What she said,” Oz said, nodding at Willow.

Buffy’s shoulders hitched. “Th-thanks, guys,” she said shyly, glancing around at them all again. “I-it means a lot to me, to hear you say that.”

“Buff, you know we’ll do anything you need us to do,” Xander said, leaning towards her, nodding his head for emphasis. “Anything.”

She forced a watery smile. “Thanks.” One of her hands reached out to stroke Dawn’s hair absently. “Thanks.”

Oz watched as Willow got up to go hug Buffy and followed his girlfriend over. “Not really into the hugging thing, Buff,” he said, as she glanced up at him with overly bright eyes. “But the sentiment is there.”

“I understand, Oz,” Buffy said. She turned to Xander, allowing him to sweep her into his arms. Willow watched this, gnawing on her lower lip, then backed away stealthily. Oz trailed behind as she stepped outside the shop.

She pounded her thigh with her fist, saying, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” “Baby, what is it?” Oz asked, stopping a few paces away from her.

“I got the wrong one, Oz.” Willow turned her sad, beautiful eyes to him.

He held his breath; afraid if he spoke he’d force her to run. Her sorrow overwhelmed him, that and her self-loathing. “Oh, baby,” he said softly, when she didn’t move. “You didn’t know.”

“I did. I knew I was doing something with consequences and I didn’t care!” Willow paced away a few steps, her back to him; her arms folded tightly around her self. “I just wanted my friend back.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s not the worst of it,” she said, her voice breaking. “I doomed another world ‘cause I brought the wrong one here!”

“Shh,” Oz said, moving up behind her, placing his hands on her upper arms and squeezing them gently.

“It was wrong. I did wrong.” Willow pulled free from him, shaking her head. “I-I used dark magic for my own gain and look what happened! I tore someone from her world and forced her into my own.”

“Well, technically, you brought Buffy back from the dead.”

Willow turned then, her face streaked with tears. “Still!”

“And, remember, Slayer in hell-dimension?”

She sniffled, her face crumpling just a little bit. “Hell-dimension?” she asked quietly, almost pleading with him to help her, for him to help her make it right again.

“Yeah. Glory’s dimension couldn’t be much fun for a Slayer, no matter if she was ours or someone else’s,” Oz said.

Willow sniffed again, brushing at the tears in her eyes. “Y-yeah,” she said hesitantly, “maybe.”

Oz opened his arms and she came to him, snuggling into his embrace. “Everything happens for a reason,” he said to her bright hair.

“Everything?” Willow pulled back slightly to meet his eyes. “Do you promise?”

He smiled warmly, giving her a soft kiss. “Promise.”

“So, it’ll, it’ll be okay?” When he hesitated, Willow’s face fell. “It won’t be okay,” she said.

“I think,” Oz said, tightening his grip around her waist so she couldn’t pull away, “Buffy’s here for a reason. We just need to find out that reason for her being here, instead of there.”

“Yeah?” She brightened slightly again.

“Yeah.” Oz pushed a strand of hair off her face. “C’mon, let’s go back inside. Before they come looking for us.” He studied Willow. “You okay?”

She nodded firmly. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“That’s my girl.” Oz took her hand and led her back into the store, where the others waited.

*** “All right. Let’s go over this again. Our sources say the Slayer has returned to Sunnydale. Is that correct?” Holland Manners eyed the group seated around the table, his gaze lighting on a pair sitting next to each other. The young man wore an expensively tailored suit and too long hair, the taller woman exuded poise and competence with her perfectly coifed mane and equally exquisite dress.

“Yes, Holland,” Lilah Morgan said, not bothering to check the notes in the file directly in front of her. “We’ve been notified that the Slayer was brought back from the dead.”

“From the dead.” Holland raised his eyebrows at that. “From the dead.” He repeated the statement, watching the reactions of his subordinates. “The Watchers wouldn’t happen to have any foreknowledge of our plans, now would they?”

Lindsey McDonald smiled that particularly oily grin of his. “No, Holland, according to our spies, they’re still in shock that the Slayer has returned. It wasn’t foretold in any of their prophecies that a Slayer would return from beyond the grave. In fact, there seems to be some concern over this. The Slayer died but no new one rose. Of course, that might have to do with the fact that this Slayer died once before but she was resuscitated. It seems she was dead long enough for another Slayer known to us as ‘Kendra’, no last name available, to be Called. Kendra subsequently died and Faith was Called.”

“Yes, Faith.” Holland drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop. “What a waste. All that power, harnessed in one little girl who skipped merrily along a path that would have led her right to us. It’s a shame we let her get away.” He focused his attention on Lilah and Lindsey. Both had the temerity to look slightly ashamed. Well, Lindsey did at least; Lilah just tilted her chin a little higher. Good way to get her throat slit. “But that’s neither here nor there. Faith remains alive, in England, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Lilah said. “She still is under the guidance of the Watcher’s Council. They believe they can finish her rehabilitation and it is possible they will allow her to return to the field eventually.”

“If something happens to this Slayer, who’s already returned from the dead twice,” Holland said.

Lindsey scribbled something on his pad. “Our sources at the Council said there were thoughts of killing Faith to activate a new Slayer, one with less questionable motives.” He tapped his pen against the pad thoughtfully.

“If they’d actually done that while the Slayer, what’s her name again?”

“Buffy, Holland. Her name is Buffy Summers,” Lilah said helpfully.

“Damn silly name, that.” Holland smiled, allowing everyone the chance to laugh. “At any rate, what were they waiting for? Why didn’t they either allow Faith back into the field or kill her to Call another Slayer? I am assuming they were unaware of any plot to bring the Slayer back from the dead.”

“A good question, Holland. We don’t know the answers.” Lindsey spread his hands apologetically.

“In other words, our sources don’t either,” Holland said, not really liking that. “So. We have the same Slayer we did three months ago. Do we know who called her back?”

“We have our suspicions,” Lilah said, sitting forward attentively. She did open her file then. “Buffy Summers’ Watcher, Rupert Giles, a.k.a. ‘Ripper’, was known in various circles for his abilities in the Dark Arts during the seventies.”

“Really.” This was news. Holland hadn’t heard that before. “So it’s possible he went behind the Council’s back to bring back his Slayer.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Lindsey said.

Lilah flashed him an irritated glare. “We were able to confirm with our sources in Sunnydale,” she said. “It’s believed that one of the Slayer’s friends is also a witch. At this time, we don’t know what ritual was used to bring Buffy Summers back from the dead but we do have our people looking into it.” She tapped her notes with a nail enameled in a brilliant, predatory red. “It’s only a matter of time before we find out what ritual was used and also who cast it.”

Holland waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t believe the ritual actually matters at this point. We know it worked. And we know the Slayer has two magic-users on her side. It would be a good idea to gather as much information as you can on them. Don’t consider that your main objective, though.” He cocked his head to the side. “Our major concern in Sunnydale is the Slayer herself.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following you, Holland,” one of the junior attorneys said.

He smiled, shaking his head almost sadly. “Ron, the senior partners are interested in moving forward shortly. You might say, the timing is almost nigh. This Slayer, returned from the dead, could prove more of a threat than we anticipated.”

“I’m not sure how, Holland,” Ron said.

“May I, Holland?” Lindsey asked, giving Ron a pitying look.

“By all means, Lindsey.” He folded his hands together expectantly.

“A new Slayer wouldn’t be as worldly. She would be new to the arena she fights in, despite what the Watchers would have us believe. This particular Slayer, Ms. Summers, is extraordinary in that she’s lived as long as she has. She has gathered together a network of assistants,” Lindsey flipped through his own notes, stopping a few pages back, “known for their courage and their willingness to assist the Slayer with any means possible.” He raised his head, flipping his bangs out of his eyes and smiling slightly. “Maybe you didn’t know, Ron, but these compatriots of the Slayer protected the Hellmouth during the time that the Slayer was dead.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Ron said, flinching slightly. “But they’re only mortals.”

Lilah’s grin mirrored Lindsey’s. “A Watcher with a background in black magic. A witch who may have been the one to raise the Slayer from the dead. A soldier who was part of Project 314. A werewolf. A vampire, fighting on the side of good. And two others, both of who have proven themselves time and again in the battlefield. I’d say they’re more than just mere mortals, Ron.”

He shriveled back into his chair, taking furious notes. Holland glanced at his two protégés, noted their expressions and took control of the meeting again. “The matter at Caritas,” he said. “What can you tell me about that? Lindsey? Lilah?”

They glanced at each other and Lindsey gave her the barest of nods. Her eyes tightened at that faint slight but she turned her attention to Holland rather than take action against Lindsey. “Our sources put the Slayer at Caritas,” she said, “but unfortunately, the Host removed the Slayer from the room, so we’re not sure what was discussed.”

“This could be damaging to the senior partners’ plans,” Holland said. “We need to find out what the Slayer was told.”

Lindsey tapped his pen against his notes again. “We don’t have anything on the Host, Holland,” he said, almost apologetically. “That club is clean.”

“Then we’ll need to get something on him or his club,” Holland said thoughtfully. “I want to know what he told the Slayer.”

The telephone beeped and Ron picked it up. “Conference room,” he said. As he listened, he wrinkled his forehead into a frown.

“The demons who frequent Caritas aren’t likely to go against the Host. He seems to have powerful friends,” Lilah said.

“What about bugging the club?” Lindsey asked.

Holland waved his hand. “We’ve tried that in the past,” he said. “I’m not sure what kind of demon he is, but his hearing is fine enough to pick up on the bugs we installed. He cleaned them out within three days. We need a person, demon, human, it doesn’t matter, someone on the inside.”

“Holland,” Ron said, “that was Jeremy at the front desk. He wanted to let you know that a pair of vampires has entered the building and are making their way up to this floor.”

Holland blinked, nonplussed. “Really?” he asked, jovially. “Vampires, you say?” He pointed his chin towards the telephone. “Tell Jeremy to get security on it immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” Ron said, turning his attention back to the telephone.

“It’s a little early for vampires,” Holland said. “And I don’t have any further appointments scheduled for the day.”

The doors to the conference room burst open, a man and a woman framed in the opening. She was dark and petite, dressed in a style that might look more appropriate in a period movie. He was dark as well, though much taller, a long duster swirling around his legs like a reminder of a cape. His smirk was more polished than Lindsey’s, more predatory than Lilah’s. The woman tilted her head to the side, a sweet, faint smile appearing on her carmined mouth.

“Ooh, look, my dark star,” she said in wonder, pointing with her whole hand, “the city is all lit up, like jewels in the night.”

“I see it, baby,” he said, though he didn’t spare the windows a glance. Instead, he focused his attention on Holland, the grin widening slightly. “You must be the one in charge,” he said.

“I must be,” Holland said.

“Holland Manners.” The vampire stepped into the room casually, his companion trailing behind like a spectre.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Holland said, watching as the male sauntered around the room. The female stopped at the window, swaying from side to side dreamily, the filmy red veil wrapped around her shoulders drifting as she moved her hands.

“I do, don’t I?” The male stopped next to Lilah, his brow raising as he eyed her slowly. She stiffened, glaring back. He snorted, shaking a finger at her almost playfully and went on until he stood next to Holland. “I have that effect on people, a lot of the time.”

“I’m sure that there are others who find it much more amusing than I do,” Holland said.

The female vampire turned, showing a malicious smile. “No,” she said, “no one does.” Her voice took on a wistful tone. “He does it anyway.”

The male stretched out his hand and the female came to him, taking his hand and nestling into his side. She turned her head to survey those seated at the table, her bright blue eyes undeniably mad. Holland felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine when those orbs passed over him. “None of them look like they want to play, my dark star,” she said, her lower lip pushing out into an adorable pout.

“I know, baby. But they don’t know who we are.” He pressed a light kiss against her temple, not taking his dark eyes from those in the room.

The doors opened again, security guards spilling through, weapons pointed at the pair. Holland could just hear the female whisper to the male, “Who are we?”

He murmured back, “You know.”

She opened her mouth, showing teeth that now seemed human. “Oh, yes, I do.” Whirling from his side, she held both hands at the throats of Lilah and Lindsey. Her long, French-manicured nails were poised to strike. Their safety was none of his concern, as the male vampire’s large hand rested lightly under Holland’s chin, his other arm laid over Holland’s chest.

“Tell them to stand down, Holland,” the male said, the soft puff of his words cool on Holland’s ear. “Or Wolfram and Hart will have to get three new senior attorneys.”

“You’d never make it out of here alive,” Holland said.

“That’s just it,” the vampire said. “I’m not alive. I’m already dead.” His grip tightened on Holland’s chin. “Tell them or one of those two dies.”

“They knew what they were getting in to when they signed on with this company,” Holland said.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t really care, myself, and she likes blood.” He leaned in closer, amusement warming his voice. “It gets her hot, almost like she’s alive. And does it turn her on. Why, between the two of us, we could take this entire room, including your guards and rut on this table when we’re done.” He shook Holland’s chin lightly. “It’s up to you to make that decision, though. What’s it going to be? Your life, the life of your subordinates, or the blood?”

“The blood, my star, the blood,” the female said, nearly singing, swinging slightly.

“See? She’s made her choice. And, you know, she’s always at her best after a massacre.”

“Guards? Holster your weapons,” Holland said. His voice didn’t quaver. He had too much training in dealing with the senior partners to allow a little thing like a pair of vampires to shake him.

“But, Mr. Manners,” one protested.

“You heard the man,” Lindsey snapped.

He always got rattled under pressure. Holland sighed mentally. “Please. My…guests…aren’t really that much of a threat.” He felt the vampire holding him laugh silently at that comment but the guards obeyed, holstering their weapons. “Now, back out of the room. I’ll leave the mike open. If you’re needed, you will be called.”

“Very good, Holland,” the vampire said, though he didn’t release his grip until the guards vacated the room. “All right, baby, you can let them go.”

“Aww,” she whined, “I just want a little taste.”

“Maybe later,” he said, offering her his hand again. She took it, pouting once more, hiding her face against his shoulder. “You have to excuse her, Holland,” he said, shrugging as he ran a soothing hand down her back. “She gets like this.”

“I understand,” Holland said expansively. “Would you…care for any refreshments?”

He lifted his companion’s chin, forcing her to look at him. “Do you want anything, baby?” he asked, and when she nodded, he said, not taking his eyes from her, “Refreshments would be appreciated, Holland.”

“Of course.” Holland gestured. “Ron, if you would be so kind?”

Ron rose, smoothing the front of his jacket in place. He went to the coffee pot and poured two cups of the thick, black brew. Carrying them to the vampires, he held out the cups. “Here you are,” he said.

Both turned to him, their eyes gleaming yellow, their teeth long and sharp. “How kind,” the female said. Both grabbed him before he could move, the coffee cups dropping to the floor. The female buried her teeth into his throat on the left, the male on the right. The sound of Ron’s shriek was cut off almost instantly, the two vampires squeezing the air from his lungs in their tight grips.

Holland motioned at Lindsey. “Make sure his family gets a suitable severance. And don’t forget the flowers.”

“Of course,” Lindsey said, writing a note to himself on his pad.

* * *

It’s late.

Or really, really early if you think that way.

I’ve been up all night, not exactly something unusual in my type of job but still.

I guess it doesn’t matter, I can’t sleep anyway. Too keyed up or something.

So I’m writing in my brand new journal, bought from Giles’ shop, with a pretty blue cover with suns, moons and stars all over it. My first diary was pink, with a unicorn. I saw it the other day, in my closet. I’d forgotten all about it until I spotted it, in with my other diaries. I wondered that they hadn’t thrown them out when I died, or, she died, the other me? But I guess that they’re a part of the history of the Slayer. I think I should give them to Giles, since his Buffy is dead but I can’t do it. Not yet. Even though I know those journals from my sophomore year of high school are different than what happened to me, I’d still feel embarrassed giving them to Giles. Who knows what I…she wrote.

And I’m kind of afraid to find out. I don’t want to know those differences. I’d rather blunder through it without that sort of help. So, fresh start. Even though I know that last journal, the one that had a print of “The Accolade” on the cover, wasn’t even halfway filled, I’m not touching it except to put it in the closet, in the box with the others. Maybe later, when it isn’t so new and raw, I might be able to look through those books. Maybe I’ll never be able to. I don’t know.

I did find my senior yearbook from high school. That was almost a surprise. I pulled it out to look, I felt like I had to. That wasn’t so different, you know; I’ve had a little distance from that time in my life. And the signatures and the stuff that my friends had written, those were all the same. There just wasn’t the photo that I remembered sticking in my yearbook, back home, wedged in the pages. The picture of Angel and me at the prom. Instead, there was one of me with Scott, Willow with Oz, and Xander with Anya. No Cordy in this photo. I wondered what happened to Anya. I still do. Where is she? Should I try to find her?

I guess could ask Xander, he might know. I remembered Anya disappearing before the battle with the Mayor. Maybe she left then and never came back. Maybe this Anya stuck around here and got killed, ‘cause we did lose some people in that battle. Maybe she took Angel’s place here.

Anyway, looking at the yearbook wasn’t so weird compared to thinking about reading her journals. So I didn’t.

Earlier tonight, everybody came over. Well, not Giles and Jenny, and I think I’m finally getting used to seeing Jenny alive again. But the gang all came over and Xander and Riley cooked burgers out on the grill. It was like a party. It was really nice, sort of like things were before high school ended, when everything was all new and shiny and we thought nothing would ever beat us. When we were triumphant at everything we did, before I had to face a life without Angel and Mom dying and finding out my baby sister is a Key to another dimension. Before I died.

Still, we all had a good time, Xander and Will dragging everyone into playing that game of theirs where they recite quotes from movies and you have to guess what movie they’re quoting. Cordy’s really bad at it and Dawn stumped all of us by quoting something from ‘Grease.’ I’d forgotten how she’d had that crush on John Travolta for a while.

I remember Dawn having a crush on Angel, too.

God, this is so hard. It’s bad enough that I got dragged out of heaven. I almost feel it worse ‘cause Angel isn’t around for me to talk to about it. Spike knows, he’s figured it out, I think. Or figured out something, he’s going around with that “I know something you don’t” grin and being smarmy again. I found cigarette butts out at the edge of the property, where someone could look in my window.

He’s following me, stalking me. I can feel it.

I just wish I cared.

Everyone’s treating me like I’m fragile except him. He’s almost treating me like normal. But after I told them what I learned from Lorne, I guess they’re going to treat me a little different.

I told them that much. I couldn’t keep it inside any more. That was one thing I could tell them about, though I’ll never tell them about heaven. Bad enough that Willow brought back me rather than her Buffy, I’m not telling her she pulled me out of paradise.

Even so, what I told them, what I said? I almost wish I hadn’t.

Dusk was falling when I came back to the Magic Box. It used to be my favorite time of the day because I knew I’d have a chance to see Angel. Now, it’s just the time the vampires wake up. And the lights were on inside the shop and a woman stepped out of it while I thought about whether to go inside, or just take off. Go somewhere else, not be the Slayer any more. But that didn’t work before and I know it wouldn’t work now. So I went inside, feeling kinda all Christians and lions.

And I told them.

Will didn’t take it well but Oz is spending the night to comfort her. Dawn made one of her faces, but didn’t really say anything, so I guess Oz spends the night here a lot. I wonder if Willow chains him up in the basement on full moons. I don’t want to ask even though a part of me needs to know that, needs to know that the wolf is taken care of on nights when I might be out hunting, to make sure the normal people of Sunnydale remain safe.

I wonder what the Oz on my world is doing for a place now. I wonder if he’s still alive.

Bad thoughts, Buffy. Stop it. You’re here now. Make the most of it.

Even if it isn’t your life.

* * *

Willy’s was noisy, full of humans and demons, all of them itching for a fight. Spike didn’t mind that normally, he could usually find someone to beat up or shag, or both; sometimes pick up a game of chance of some sort or another. Willy’s wasn’t the type of place he’d frequented when he ran as part of Samael’s pack, but Samael had pride. He wouldn’t’ve wanted to dirty his shoes in the muck on the floor of Willy’s. Still, Spike thought it suited him right down to the ground. These were his people. Well, of a sort. Since the Scoobies had taken him in after that bout with the Initiative, he was a horse of a different color. Not exactly friend, not exactly foe. The others were more wary around him, especially after it got around that he could only hurt other demons. Humans were off his hunting list. Made it a little harder to get in with them, since he couldn’t take part in the kill.

Still, he had a reputation to maintain; he was still Alpha bloody male of the vampires in this town and he wasn’t gonna let no punk fledgling take his spot without a row. Didn’t matter that they considered him the Slayer’s lapdog. He’d gone against a hellgod at her side and that alone proved his wrinklies were still the biggest. None of them had even thought about going against Glory. They’d been too busy hiding. Who knew what kinda demons Glory had in her realm. Something nastier than a vampire might be in her food chain.

Spike hadn’t exactly worried about that. No, he hadn’t wanted to lose punk rock, dog racing or Piccadilly; any more now than he had back when Darla and Dru had tried to raise Acathla. And he hadn’t really wanted to lose a chance to shag the Slayer.

He didn’t remember when he’d realized she’d gotten under his skin. Sleeping with Harmony hadn’t taken away the desire for the Slayer. Seeing Drusilla before they’d gone up against Glory hadn’t doused the fire that burned in his gut. Buffy Summers was the woman he wanted. Didn’t matter what she was. Didn’t matter what he was. He actually thought they’d be a good match. Slayers dealt death, just like vampires. They were hunters, predators of the highest caliber. Would only stand to reason that they’d be good mates.

He’d been hurt when she’d leaped from that bloody tower, in an attempt to rescue the niblet. Should’ve asked him; not that he would’ve leapt for Dawn or the world for that matter. Spike liked the world with him in it and he thought it might be a lot less fun for certain people if he were gone. The Slayer, for one. But if the stupid chit had thought to staunch Dawn’s blood, rather than jumping…it might’ve worked. No, she’d gone and leaped to her death. And Red had gone and brought her back.

Nice piece of work, that, even if something weird was going on. The Slayer had talked a little with him when they’d gone out that night before her boy toy came back from bloody South America. And that was another thing, why hadn’t Dru or Samael eaten him? Spike knew that was where the pair had been; knew when soldier-boy left town that’s who he was hunting. Hell, he’d dropped enough hints to send a battalion down there. But here was soldier-boy, back and apparently healthy as a horse, taking up with the Slayer again. Wasn’t right. Still, didn’t seem that she cared for her lover boy as much as she did before she took her jump. It was something, but not very much. Spike would’ve preferred it if Samael had taken the boy out. Preferably slowly and with a lotta pain. The boy deserved it.

Spike sneered at his drink, guzzling it down. Blood, not fresh, never that, outdated stuff from the blood bank. Still, he couldn’t really be picky, could he? And it was time to make that bleeding phone call. Worse than being a dog on a leash, that phone call. Still, he did promise to make the report.

Finishing off his drink and waving over Willy for a bottle Wild Turkey, he took the bottle with him as he made his way to the pay phone. Propping his bottle on top of the phone’s casing, Spike fished in his pockets for change and dropped them into the slot. Picking up the receiver, he punched in the numbers, rattling them off from memory. Two rings, and the connection was made.

“It’s me,” he said. “Just listen, I don’t have much time. The Slayer went to Caritas.”

“Old news, Spike.”

He swore under his breath. “Do you know what she found out?”

“We’ve got people looking into it now.”

“Huh, people. I can just imagine.” He rolled his pale eyes. “I could find out for you.”

A purr from the other end. “Really?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t take much time.”

The voice became sharper and strident. “We don’t have much time, remember.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard that one before. Do you want me to have a go at it or not?’

A pause, then the voice said slowly, “Yes. But the Slayer can’t know what you’re up to.”

“Well, du-uh,” he said, taking a swig of his whiskey. “That’d take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?’

“Fun. You’ve always had a peculiar notion of it.”

Spike bared his teeth at the receiver. “You never had any complaints.”

The laughter tinkled through the line like wind chimes. “Maybe. Maybe I just never told you.”

“Oh. Here’s something you don’t know,” Spike said, wanting to rub it in. “The Slayer asked questions about a vampire named ‘Angel’. Seems he Sired Drusilla. Among other things. She seems to think he hung the bloody stars.”

“Angel?” the voice repeated distastefully. “What a foolish name. What did you say?”

“Said I didn’t know any angel,” Spike said, feeling the whiskey hit his stomach hard. It mixed with the blood; his favorite cocktail. “Get this: the Slayer says this ‘Angel’ is a vampire with a soul.”

“She what?” The voice trembled with ill-hidden laughter.

“Almost as stupid as a vampire with a chip in his head,” Spike said. “Gotta thank you properly someday for helping me get rid of mine.”

“Aren’t you already? I mean, you’re betraying the Slayer for me.”

“Just remember, when it starts, she’s mine,” Spike said.

The voice went hard and cold. “As long as she doesn’t get in my way.”

“I’ll keep her out of your path of destruction.”

“See that you do.” The voice lost some of its sharpness. “On the other hand, there’s a part of me that wouldn’t mind a rematch. I doubt she’d be expecting to see me again.”

“You’re probably right, love,” Spike said. “I’ll call again when I find out more.” He hung the receiver in its cradle, breaking the connection and picked up his bottle again, taking another long swig. Trouble was brewing in the corner between a Nichi demon and a vampire. Spike swaggered over to watch.

With any luck, there’d be blood. And who’d want to miss that?

* * *

He was here.

She could feel his presence, even through the space between them. Only he had the ability to make her body tingle, make her sluggish blood rise. Her joy bubbled up in her throat, spilling out of her mouth. The man next to her raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He knew better to challenge her lead, not while she held the power.

She stepped out as the elevator doors slid open, striding purposefully along the corridor, her head held high. The others fell in behind her, Elizabeth, James, Penn. Soon, the rest of the pack would be assembled. Soon, the world would tremble at their passing. The humans that remained alive would worship them as the gods they deserved to be.

Everything was coming together now. Even the resurrection of the Slayer wouldn’t stop them.

She led the way to the conference room and paused, allowing the male vampires to move ahead of her and swing open the doors. Elizabeth moved through first, then Penn and James. She swept in at the last, surveying those in the room, the smell of blood and fear and death still hanging in the air like the sweetest of perfumes. She caught sight of the tall, dark figure, ensconced in a chair like it was a throne.

The corners of her rouged mouth turned up in delight as Samael rose to his feet. “Hello, lover,” Darla purred.

* * *

Buffy wandered down the stairs, blinking at the bright morning light that seemed determined to burn her eyes. The smell of bacon cooking had dragged her out of a dream, something she could barely remember, even a few short minutes after she’d got out of bed. Almost sleepwalking, she wandered towards the kitchen.

A voice sang in there, the crooning strange to her ears. She stopped just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame to scope this out before actually entering.

Riley stood next to the range, frying up bacon with a deft hand. A dark green t-shirt and camo-pants protected his skin from the popping grease. Dawn supervised from her barstool, a strip of bacon in her hand. “Remember, scramble those eggs hard,” she said. “No one in this house likes runny eggs.”

“Got it,” Riley said, and broke back into the lyrics he’d been singing as Buffy’d walked down the stairs. “Her eyes, they shone like the diamond, you’d think she was queen of the land. With her hair thrown over her shoulder, tied up with the black velvet band.”

“That’s the depressing song,” Dawn said. “Sing the other one.”

“Danny Boy?” Riley asked, flashing a grin over his shoulder at her.

Dawn made a face. “No. That drinking song.”

“I’m not sure my underage sister needs to know the words to a drinking song,” Buffy broke in, deciding to make her presence known.

“Buffy,” Riley said, turning his attention to her. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” she said, walking into the kitchen and climbing onto one of the stools next to Dawn.

“Want some bacon?” Dawn offered Buffy a plate.

Buffy looked at it and wrinkled her nose. “Um, no. Just some coffee? Is there any ready?”

“Of course. Coming up.” Riley scooped the bacon onto a folded paper towel and reached for a cup. He poured the coffee into it and started to hand it over the counter to Buffy. “You are going to eat something, right?”

She reached for the mug. “Too early for food.”

Riley pulled the coffee out of her reach. “You are going to eat something, right?’

“Riley makes the best eggs,” Dawn bubbled.

“All right. Some eggs.” Buffy glared at her sister. “But not enough to feed your whole regiment or anything.”

Riley grinned and set the coffee in front of her, following it closely with eggs, bacon and toast. “There you are. Eat up.”

Buffy frowned at the laden plate. “I can’t eat all of this.”

“Try it. You might like it,” Dawn wheedled, bumping her shoulder against Buffy’s. “And that burnt stuff on the edge of the crusts?” She pointed at the crispy corner. “Riley tells me it puts hair on your chest.”

“Oh, really,” Buffy said dryly. “I think I’ll pass on a hairy chest, thanks.”

“Burnt only causes hairy chests in boys,” Riley said. “Girls get curly hair.” He took a sip of his own coffee, his eyes sparkling with amusement over the rim.

“Great. Who knows what affect it has on Slayers,” Buffy groused. Still, she took a bite of the eggs. It wasn’t the first time she’d eaten Riley’s cooking. Sometimes, on nights when he stayed over, he’d get up early and make her breakfast. Though she couldn’t remember Riley ever singing before.

“Well?” Dawn asked.

“They’re good.” Buffy offered Riley a smile. “Thanks for cooking.”

“Hey, no problem. Scrambled eggs are Chef Finn’s specialty.” Riley made himself a plate and leaned back on the cupboard counter to eat.

It was quiet for a bit, no conversation, just the sounds of people enjoying their food. Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt comfortable around Riley. When her mother had been in the hospital, it had been the beginning of the end of their relationship. At least, it had been that way on her world. Buffy picked at the slices of bacon, breaking them into smaller pieces.

“Stop playing with your food,” Dawn said, smacking Buffy’s wrist. “There are children starving in…where are there children starving at now?…who’d be happy to get that food.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. The speech was totally Mom. She answered her sister in a whiney voice. “Even broccoli? Are you sure they want broccoli?”

Dawn screwed up her face and whined right back. “I’m sure they want broccoli. And they’d like it.”

Riley chuckled. “Broccoli?” he asked.

“Dawn hates broccoli,” Buffy said.

“It’s of the cabbage family,” Dawn said with an exaggerated shudder. “Broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, all rank up there in the big ‘ew’ category.”

“They’re good for you,” Riley said, gesturing with his coffee mug.

“Uh, huh,” Dawn said, not buying it.

“No, really.”

“Like burnt toast?” Buffy asked, holding up part of the offensive crust of her bread.

Riley nodded. “Exactly.”

“So, they put hair on your chest?” Buffy asked innocently.

Riley’s mouth opened for a retort then snapped shut, a flush tingeing his cheeks. Dawn burst into laughter at his expression, nearly spilling her orange juice. Buffy caught the glass. “I think you’ve had enough,” she said. “We’re cutting you off.”

“Aww,” Dawn said.

“And isn’t it time for you to be getting off to school?” Riley asked, pointing at the clock.

“All right,” Dawn said grudgingly. “I’m going.”

“Got your lunch?” Buffy asked as her sister picked up a backpack.

“Got it. Unless,” Dawn’s expression turned hopeful, “you have any extra money to spare for me to get a cinnamon roll.”

“A cinnamon roll is not lunch.” Buffy folded her arms, realizing that her flannel sheep pajamas were probably not the best thing to be wearing when taking a firm stance with a younger sister.

“Xander says it is.”

“There’s a sterling recommendation,” Riley said.

“Xander thinks Twinkies are the perfect food group,” Buffy said. “Go.”

“Okay.” Dawn surprised Buffy by throwing her arms around Riley first, then her. “See you guys later.”

“Have a good day at school, Dawn,” Riley said as she opened the door and slipped out of it. He smiled fondly at her retreating figure, finishing off the rest of his coffee. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best,” Buffy said. “Of course, I say that now, when she’s not in the house and driving me crazy.” She dragged a hand over her hair. “It may change in a matter of minutes.”

Riley rinsed out his cup, taking the three plates from the bar and setting them in the sink. “But you’re willing to die for her,” he said quietly. He turned back around to face her.

Buffy lifted her shoulders, trying to shrug it off. “She’s my only sister.”

“You did that…jumped in your world, too, didn’t you?” Riley asked.

She couldn’t look at him. “Yeah.” She fiddled with the cuff of her pajama top, running her fingers over the soft fabric.

There was a pause, then Riley said, “Well. What are your plans for the day?”

Buffy glanced up at him, giving him a grateful smile. “I don’t know. Probably head over to the Magic Box and talk to Giles. You?”

“I need to call my commander, find out when he needs me back.” Riley didn’t touch her but Buffy could tell he wanted to. “You do know I have to go back, right? I’m on an emergency furlough.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said. She nodded her head, wondering that she felt a little pang at the idea of Riley leaving. He was nice. Solid. Dependable. She tried to shake off the idea she was describing a washing machine rather than the man that the her of this world had accepted as her fiancé. “I’ll…miss you,” she said, “when you’re gone.”

His face lit up at that admission. “It means a lot that you’d say that to me,” Riley said. “I know things are weird here. But I swear it’ll get better, Buffy. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Buffy said. “I needed to hear that.” She met Riley’s blue eyes and held them with her own. He reached out slowly, his fingertips tracing her hair away from her forehead. The touch was so soft and gentle. Buffy found herself leaning into that comfort.

“Do I smell bacon?” Oz stood in the doorway, his orange hair rumpled more than normal. “Oh. It looks like I interrupted a moment.”

“No, it’s okay, Oz,” Buffy said, stepping back hastily. She canted her eyes towards Riley. “I think I will get that shower now and take you up on your offer.” She darted out of the kitchen past her friend.

“What was that about?” Willow asked as she followed Oz into the kitchen.

Oz stared after Buffy, an eyebrow lifting. “Man, I’m truly sorry about that.”

“No, it’s okay, Oz,” Riley said. “Things are weird here for her and she’s just got to…adjust. It’ll take time.”

Nodding his understanding, Oz said, “It’s killing you, huh.”

“A little more every day.”

Willow laid a hand on his arm comfortingly. “It’ll get better, Riley,” she said, echoing his words.

“I know, Will,” Riley said, covering her hand with his own. “It has to.”

* * *

Jenny glanced up at the hesitant knock on the apartment door. Rising to her feet, she walked to it, peering out the spyhole to see the top of a honey-brown head. Unlocking the door, she swung it open. “Buffy,” she said, “good morning.”

The girl stood on the stoop, twisting her hands together. “I-I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.

“No, of course not. Come in,” Jenny said, stepping back and gesturing. Buffy tentatively stepped over the threshold, her head lowered slightly. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Okay, I guess,” Buffy said, her voice barely carrying.

Jenny smiled sadly. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Buffy,” she said, squeezing the younger woman’s shoulder. “But if there’s anything I—we—can do, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Those huge expressive eyes flicked up and Buffy straightened slightly. “There are a few things,” she said, as Giles walked into the room, ruffling his still-damp hair.

“Oh, good morning,” he said, taken slightly aback. “Buffy, I d-didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I-I’m not imposing, am I?” she asked.

“N-no, not at all. Come in. Would you like some coffee?” Giles gestured towards the kitchen nook.

“Please.”

“Sit, I’ll bring it out. Jenny, do you want anything?”

“Coffee for me as well, Rupert,” Jenny said. She guided Buffy to the sofa, sitting her in it. “Did you sleep at all last night?” she asked, taking in the dark circles ringing the Slayer’s eyes.

“Not well,” Buffy said, a hand coming up to make some aborted gesture, falling back into her lap. She bit her lower lip, glancing towards the kitchen. “I-I’ve had some time to do some thinking. Remembering, actually.” She waited as Giles carried in a tray full of cups, creamer and sugar bowl.

“Here we are,” he said. “I’m afraid I have no whipped cream for your cappuccino,” he said, setting the tray on the living room table.

“We finished it off last night,” Jenny said, patting her lover’s thigh.

Buffy’s eyes widened even more.

“She neglects to say it was in our hot cocoa,” Giles said dryly, “so your belief that I’m too old for sex can be assuaged.”

“Thanks,” Buffy said, accepting the coffee and shooting Jenny an irritated glance as she poured in the cream and loaded it up with sugar.

Jenny smiled back, reaching for her own cup. “Buffy was saying that she’s been doing some thinking, Rupert.”

“Oh? About what?” He set his mug back on the tray, turning his faded blue eyes towards his Slayer expectantly.

“Well,” Buffy said, taking a sip of her coffee then setting it aside. “I was going to tell you about a dream I had yesterday but I forgot about it. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “After what I found out from Lorne…it, well,” her voice trailed off.

“That’s understandable, Buffy. Yesterday was rather, ah, traumatic for you,” Giles said, his voice warm. He removed his glasses and began polishing them on a napkin. “But a dream, you say?”

“Yeah.” She flashed a weak grin. “I-I dreamed I was at the Bronze, meeting Willow, Xander and Cordelia. Only, when I went to sit with them, they wanted me to sit on this platform thingy.” Buffy took a sip of her coffee again, buying time. Her eyes were focused inwardly, a faint frown knitting her brow. “There was a throne made out of bones on the platform. And there was another one next to it.”

When she hesitated, Giles leaned closer, the polishing stopping in his concentration on what Buffy had to say. “Is there more?” he asked.

“Y-yeah. I-I saw…” Buffy swallowed, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. Her fingers toyed with the engagement ring on her hand. Lifting her head, she said, “I saw them.” She looked from Giles to Jenny and back again. “Drusilla and Spike. Together. And…him.”

“Him who, Buffy?” Jenny asked, though she thought she already knew.

“A-Angel. He…was evil again.” Her face twisted and Buffy put a hand to her forehead, as if the thought of it pained her. “H-he wanted me to join him.”

Giles leaned back, a frown settling on her face. “Angel?” he asked, almost to himself. Absently, he tucked the earpiece of his glasses in his mouth, rising to his feet to pace the length of the small living room. “Buffy,” he said, halting to look down at her, “we have not found any word of this vampire in our books. The Council does not have any word of him.”

“I-I know,” Buffy said, biting her lower lip. “Don’t you think I know that?” She rose to her feet, as if she couldn’t stand to sit any longer. “But I saw him in my dream.”

“Maybe you saw him out of stress,” Giles said hesitantly. At her snort of disbelief, he defended himself. “It is possible, a reaction to being h-here.”

“I don’t think it’s a reaction, Giles,” Buffy said, her hands clenching into fists. “I think it’s a warning.”

“A premonition?” Jenny asked, now worried as well. “Is that what you believe, Buffy?”

The girl turned toward her, as if actually realizing she was there for the first time. Her eyes narrowed. “You,” she said, her voice trembling. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” Jenny asked. “I don’t understand. I live here, Buffy.”

“No, that’s not it,” Buffy said, her tone lowering. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“Buffy,” Giles said reproachfully. “Jenny is my wife.”

“Wife?” She whirled on her Watcher. “You married her?”

“W-why, yes. Marriage is common enough when two people love each other,” he said.

“All right.” Buffy nodded as if this was something new but she’d fit it into the scheme of things. “On my world,” she said, “Jenny Calendar was a gypsy, sent to Sunnydale to keep an eye on Angel. She knew about his curse because her tribe set it on him.” She leaned down to Jenny. “Who are you?”

“Buffy!” Giles snapped. “I will not have you speaking to Jenny in that tone of voice.”

“No, Rupert,” Jenny said, holding up a hand. “It’s all right.” Her dark eyes met Buffy’s stormy grey ones levelly. “You’re right. I am Rom. And I was sent to Sunnydale, but to watch out for you, Buffy.”

“What?” Giles asked even as his Slayer nodded.

“I thought so,” she said. “Why else come here, if not to spy on one of us?”

“Not to spy,” Jenny said, trying to defend herself. “No. I was sent here by one of the wise women of my people. She saw…many things happening in Sunnydale. One of the things she foretold was your coming. And your return from the dead.” Jenny moistened her lips, glancing from her husband to the angry young woman in front of her. “Rupert, Buffy, please sit. This story…it’s not so easy to tell.” She gestured at the sofa. “Please.”

Giles obeyed, only because, Jenny thought, he might fall rather than continue to stand. Buffy warily took a seat next to him, perched on the edge of the cushion, as if she might leap up at any second. Jenny offered them both an apologetic smile. “I know this is hard, Rupert,” she said. “I-I didn’t want to tell you at first. I was afraid you might think that I was going against your Council if I told you.”

“So you l-lied to me?” Giles asked, his voice hushed and shaking with anger.

“Not lied. I am a computer teacher, Rupert,” Jenny said, hoping he would understand. “I am a techno-pagan. And I didn’t know if the wise woman’s visions would come true.” She tried to reach for her husband’s hand and swallowed her disappointment when he withdrew. “She was old when she told them to me, these visions she’d had when she was so much younger. But the wise woman…she was so insistant. She said I would do much good if I came here, that I could right a wrong. And she said I had to watch for you, Buffy, for the second coming of the Slayer.”

Buffy’s lip curled. “So she knew I’d die?”

Jenny nodded slowly, a wisp of dark hair coming loose from the bun she’d put it in only a short time ago. “Yes. She didn’t tell me that part though. Her words were that a new Slayer would rise from the old, like a phoenix.” She motioned at Buffy. “That Slayer can only be you, Buffy.”

“Why?” Buffy asked, still antagonistic.

“B-buffy,” Giles said, “the phoenix builds a pyre and self-immolates itself. It rises again from its own ashes, reborn, if you will, resurrected…but not quite the same as it was at first.” Absently, in shock, he reached out and picked up his mug, taking a long draught of coffee into his mouth and swallowing it.

“That suits,” Buffy said dryly. “So, someone knew it’d be me who came to this world and not your Buffy. What else did she have to say?”

Jenny caught her breath, looking directly at the younger woman. “She said that your return would herald the beginning of the end.”

“The end?” Giles asked, his attention focusing on her sharply. “The end of what?”

“The end of the world.”

Another knock sounded at the door. Giles stared at Jenny, a slow frown showing on his face. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

The knock came louder, more insistent. “Get the door, Rupert,” Jenny said softly.

“N-no, I must know what you mean.”

“The door,” Jenny said.

“I’ll get it,” Buffy said, popping from her seat and spinning around the edge of the couch to open the door. Sunlight spilled in around the lanky figure standing in the doorway, Buffy’s nonplussed, “Riley,” announcing who it was.

The young man stumbled in, grabbing her tightly in his arms and crushing her to his chest. “Buffy, Buffy,” he moaned.

Jenny saw the girl stiffen in her fiancé’s grasp but she didn’t shove him off as it seemed her hands wanted to. Instead, they patted at him awkwardly and Buffy guided him into the living area, managing to hook a foot on the door and close it behind them. “Sit,” she ordered, prying herself free.

“H-has something happened, Riley?” Giles asked, pulling himself into the present to question the young man.

Riley shook his head, catching hold of Buffy’s hand before she could move away. She settled on the arm of the chair next to him, letting him hold her hand. “They’re gone,” he said, his voice sounding lost.

“Wh-who’s gone?” Giles asked, gentling his tone.

“My unit. They didn’t answer, so a squad went down to check on them.” Riley’s smile was out of place on his face, a squatter in a mansion. “Turns out,” he swallowed hard. “Turns out they all…died.”

“Died?” Jenny asked sharply.

“How?” Giles asked.

Riley raked his free hand through his hair. “A-an attack. They pieced it together best they could. Seems it happened the day after I left the camp.” He glanced up at Buffy, who’s face took on a concerned expression. “They were…overrun by vampires. The nest, the ones we were hunting, I guess they turned the tables on my men.” Riley shook his head as if to clear it of the images. “No one was left alive. They said it was an out-and-out slaughter.”

“Here,” Buffy said, grabbing her coffee and pressing it into Riley’s hand. “Drink this.”

He obeyed, swallowing the milky concoction without any emotion. “I don’t understand,” he said, clutching the cup tightly. “They weren’t that dangerous. They weren’t…they couldn’t have been clever enough to know what we were doing.”

“They’re not animals,” Giles said exasperated. “We’ve told you that time and again.”

“Rupert,” Jenny said sharply. “He doesn’t need to hear that now.”

Giles shook his head. “So, you’ve lost a cadre of soldiers, set out to hunt a nest of vampires.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get killed,” Buffy said softly, patting Riley’s shoulder. His hand crept up to cover hers, squeezing it tightly.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice just as soft.

Buffy turned her attention to Jenny, her eyes darkened. “So. Did your wise woman predict this, too?”

“No. She only predicted you.”

Riley roused himself. “Prediction? Wise woman? What’s going on?”

“Jenny was sent here to watch me,” Buffy said, flinging a hand at her. “Seems that my coming here was pre-ordained.” She laughed harshly. “What else is written in the stars, Jenny?”

She shook her dark head. “I-I have notes,” she said.

“And you didn’t think to haul them out sooner?” Buffy asked sharply.

“Buffy. Jenny is my wife. Do not berate her as you would a child.” Giles stood by her, his hand reaching down to her shoulder, squeezing it much the way Buffy’s hand rested on Riley’s shoulder. Mirror images, Jenny thought, all in reverse, thankful that Giles would stand up for her. Maybe this would work out.

“It might’ve been nice to know what was going on,” Buffy snapped, not backing down.

“Rupert, it’s all right.” Jenny touched his hand as Riley had touched Buffy’s. “I know you probably hate me right now, but I couldn’t,” she protested. “Not until I knew exactly what was going on. I didn’t know for sure until last night, when you returned from Los Angeles. I didn’t want to say anything and be wrong.”

“Right,” Buffy said, pulling away from Riley to pace again. They all watched her as she made her way to the pass through window to the kitchen, gripping the frame’s edge with her hands until her knuckles went white. Her head bowed, her back stiffened with tension. “God,” she said to the counter, “some things never change. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, there’s always a stupid prophecy!” She released the frame to slam both fists down on it. The wood groaned ominously. Whirling around, Buffy fixed Jenny with her rage-brightened eyes. “What does it say? What am I supposed to do this time, since I’ve already died?”

Jenny swallowed. “Hell is rising, Buffy,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to face it.”


	4. Through the Looking Glass

Lindsey McDonald considered himself a fairly levelheaded man. Sure, he was passionate about his job but when you worked for the people he did, it was better than the alternative. He’d seen first-hand what happened to those who let big accounts flounder. Lilah Morgan meanwhile, thought she knew all the angles. Most conniving bitch he’d ever met. Gorgeous, but there weren’t any real slouches in the looks department when it came to Wolfram and Hart. The staff photo could have been a poster for “Successful (i.e., Rich) Attorneys” at any school.

Of course to work here, you had to be willing to pay the price. Those big accounts that brought in the money were the most dangerous to work. When you represented not only the human scum of the earth but also demons, things got a little dicey.

Just look at what had happened to Ron. Now dead, he’d earned his hazard pay, gone above and beyond.

Lindsey watched the vampires congregating. It reminded him of those nature films his father had been so fond of, when the Alpha male returned to the pack. Penn, Elizabeth, James and Darla couldn’t keep their hands off of the tall male. His sardonic grin welcomed the accolades even as he kept a close eye on the humans in the boardroom.

Holland’s beatific smile wasn’t mirrored by the others in the room, not even Lilah. No, she had her predatory gaze on the dark male. The way she kept shifting on her chair, Lindsey knew she wanted the vampire. He wondered if his erstwhile partner would be foolish enough to make a play for him.

Not that he was immune to the charms offered by a demon in human form. His own gut clenched as he watched Darla pet the tall male, the way she snuggled into his side. It had been the senior partners’ request to raise Darla from the dead but they hadn’t counted on her being returned as human. It had taken a little time for Lindsey and Lilah to track down members of her old cadre and while they searched, Lindsey had found himself falling for the lovely woman. She was as vicious as Lilah but not as hard and the vulnerability Darla showed him when they were alone continuously undermined his objectivity. Lilah knew about his infatuation and sneered. Now, he might be able to get some of that back.

But now he had to keep his wits about him. The predators might react to a change in his scent. Lindsey wasn’t sure about the physiognomy of his own race, he was no doctor, but he knew dogs could smell fear. Surely vampires could pick up on human scents, too. Hell, for all he knew, they might be able to pick up on any infinitesimal changes in the breathing or heart rate of their prey—and that was the last thing he wanted to be thought of by this pack.

The as-of-yet unnamed male touched each of his troupe. He hugged and kissed the women, backslapped the men. Had Lindsey just walked in on this display, he might’ve thought them human. Regardless, he would’ve been able to pick out the leader. The way he moved, his stance, the quick flashed of his teeth all added up to make him the Alpha. Even his voice, when he spoke, carried its weight, cutting through his pack’s chatter when he said, “Someone’s missing. Where’s Spike?”

The pretty dark female cooed at the question, clasping her hands together under the red veil she wore. “My sweet Spike,” she said, her head lolling to one side, her expression anything but innocent.

“I’d like to answer that question,” Holland said, gently interrupting the reunion.

The male turned his dark eyes on the senior lawyer, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Yes, I suppose you might.” Taking both Darla and the mad one’s hands, he led them back to the table and sat across from Lindsey. Both women took their places behind him while the remaining trio ranged beyond them as backup.

Lindsey felt a tingle run down his spine as his gut clenched in an involuntary reaction to the power arranged before him. The Alpha pressed the tips of his fingers together and surveyed the humans seated around the table.

“So,” he said, “you know where Spike is?”

“He’s doing us a service,” Holland said. “On the Hellmouth.”

“The Slayer,” the dark female said, the word hissing out of her mouth.

Holland went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “He’s our eyes and ears in Sunnydale. There are others, of course, but Spike happens to be close to the Slayer at this point. She and her companions believe him to be harmless.”

The male chuckled, shaking his head so his long bangs drifted lazily into his eyes. “Spike’s damn Anne Rice strategies work again.”

“Actually…” Holland pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow at the male. “I hate doing business with someone when I don’t know his name.” He gave the vampire a knowing smile. “You know, can’t tell the players without a scorecard.”

“So, my name isn’t predicted in the prophecies?” He grinned, tapping his forefingers together as he glanced back at his subordinates. “I’m the wild card.”

“He’s the devil,” Penn said, his blocky face taking on a wicked cast.

“The fallen star,” the mad female said, her mouth twitching up.

“I don’t think I’ll call you Lucifer, though,” Holland said, playing along.

Darla smoothed an imagined wrinkle in the shoulder of his duster. “No,” she said, her little girl’s voice sounding amused, “that name won’t do.”

“But there is something we can call you. I do like being able to address those I work with,” Holland said, only the faintest hint of impatience coloring the words.

“Work with, not command?” He let the question hang there for three of Lindsey’s heartbeats and then the vampire went on, almost cheerfully, “Call me…Angel.”

“Very well, Angel,” Holland said, nodding at Lindsey and Lilah both. “I was telling you about Spike. It seems that our hot-tempered friend ran afoul of a covert military operation, designed to make sure that demons were unable to harm humans. Spike was captured and a chip inserted into his head, making it painful for him to feed on humans, or even cause them any physical harm.”

“Poor, poor Spike,” the mad one said, her lower lip jutting out.

“We’ve taken care of that problem,” Lilah said, leaning forward to give Angel a glimpse of her creamy cleavage. “We removed the chip over two months ago.”

“So, he can feed? And hunt?” She clapped her hands together, doing a little pirouette. “The night will sing for us again.”

“Easy, baby,” Angel said, capturing one of his dark companion’s hands and pulling her closer. She didn’t resist, simply molded herself to him, though her pleasure in the news showed in the smile that graced her narrow face. Darla gave her a look of disgust, quickly schooled away when she realized the humans saw. Lindsey tapped his pen on his pad thoughtfully. Darla didn’t like the mad one, nor did she care for Spike. He remembered Darla telling him Spike was her tool and she had no qualms about using and discarding him. Still, he was useful for the time being.

Angel’s voice broke in gently again. “I understand that you want to bring about the end of the world.”

Holland nodded, his features schooled in a fatherly smile. “At the wishes of our senior partners.” He gestured at the pack. “Something tells me you’re the one we’ve been waiting for. Lindsey? If you’ll ask that Petra come in with the Xycantin Codex?”

Lindsey punched the intercom button. “Beth? Could you please send up Petra and the Codex?”

“Yes, sir,” the voice filtered back through the speaker.

Holland turned his attention back to the head vampire. “Our senior partners have been waiting some time for this,” he said, “as I’m sure you know.” “Since the beginning of the world,” the dark female said.

“Exactly. You might not know, but Wolfram and Hart have stood by the sides of our partners, well,” he chuckled, “pretty much since our race climbed out of the slime.” Holland gestured at the attorneys arranged around him. “We’ve been doing our part, smoke screens and misdirection, all of it working towards the final goal.” He rose to his feet, walking to one of the huge windows and peering out of the blinds at the morning. “Darla,” Holland went on, in a slightly different one, less jovial, somewhat sharper. “What does Spike say about the Slayer?”

Lindsey saw the whole body flinch from the dark female at the mention of the vampire’s worst enemy. He also saw the triumphant head toss from her blonde sister. And finally, though all within the space of a heartbeat, he saw the light of unholy glee flicker in Angel’s dark eyes. Her voice sweet, Darla said, “The Slayer is still a problem, Holland, but Spike is working on that. He says by the time we’re ready to strike, he will have her under his control.”

“Wants her, he does, my Spike wants her,” the mad vampire muttered, almost under her breath as a dark-haired woman appeared in the doorway of the conference room, a large vellum scroll carefully pinned between two sheets of Plexiglas and a thick manila folder, arcane markings of red, blue and black ink scribbled across the front of it. She set them down before Holland’s space on the desk and exited the room as silently as she’d entered.

“Ah, excellent,” Holland said, though even Lindsey couldn’t discern if he meant Darla’s comment on Spike or the appearance of the file and scroll. He lifted the scroll and perused it, flicking his eyes over the top of it to meet those of Angel’s. “The senior partners are very interested in bringing forth Armageddon,” he said. “We had hoped to do that with a fresh Slayer, one not accustomed to the ways of the world. As it stands, Buffy Summers, one of the finest Slayers ever Called, has been brought back from the dead. It is causing some consternation among our partners.” He set aside the scroll thoughtfully. “I’m sure you can imagine just how much a thorn in our side Ms. Summers can be.”

Angel lowered his head slowly. “I suppose you’d like us to take care of that problem for you?” His gesture included those ranged behind him. Darla smiled in anticipation. “Yes,” Holland said, lacing his fingers together loosely. He settled back into his chair, gazing across the table at the entire vampire pack. “But there’s something else you can help with, first.” He raised his eyes to the blonde leaning against the lead male. “Darla?”

She all but purred, running her hand along Angel’s cheek. “The senior partners have a special project for you and me,” she said.

“Really. What would that be?” He nipped at the pads of her fingers lightly.

“The Codex translated the Ga-shunda text,” Holland said. “It’s a handy thing, because there are a great many portents and prophecies here that could have gone unnoticed. A particular one might interest you.” He fixed Darla and Angel with a paternal stare. “It seems that a child’s birth shall foretell the end of the world.” A grandfatherly smile graced his face. “It’s cause for celebration, this birth. And the senior partners have chosen you two to be the parents.”

“Ooo,” the mad one said, clapping her hands together, “I get to be a sister again.”

* * *

Giles rubbed his hands over his hair, staring at himself in the mirror. He almost thought he could see the color changing from brown to ash as he watched. He knew that being a Watcher meant that his life would never be easy. He understood that he flouted convention on numerous occasions; allowing himself to become attached to Buffy, allowing Buffy to carry on a normal life, or as much of one as she could and still be the Slayer, allowing himself to fall in love and get married; allowing himself to gather together his Slayer and her friends into a family that he wouldn’t trade for anything in this world.

A part of him knew that made it harder for him to react as a Watcher should. He had felt an incredible amount of pain, knowing that Buffy could die, facing off against Glory. He had offered her the only option he could, to take Dawn out of the equation, so that Buffy could continue to live. And Buffy hadn’t settled for that. In retrospect, Giles knew he would have been disappointed had she done so. Of course, he could also wish she hadn’t taken such a drastic measure as to offer her own life for Dawn’s, even if by doing so, she saved the world. Again. Even with her friends and her sister and Jenny by his side for the time that Buffy had been dead, he had felt her loss as keenly as if she had truly been his flesh and blood. Jenny had soothed him, had counseled them all, and had been the glue to keep them together in that dark time.

And now, Buffy was back. She’d returned from the grave, clawing her way out of the earth, not a vampire, not a zombie, but an actual human girl, his Slayer, brought back to life by magicks he had never expected Willow to find out about, let alone gather the courage to use. But the mistake she had made in casting her spell had consequences Giles, none of them, to tell the truth, had ever considered.

Their Buffy was lost for good. Willow’s magicks had snared another Buffy from the aether, brought her to their world. And while the differences seemed so very little, so much so that they had all discounted them as a sort of dream, portent, perhaps a warning, now had come full blown before them.

Buffy had accused Jenny of hiding things from them; from him. And Jenny had not discounted Buffy’s accusations. In fact, she had agreed. Giles shook his head at himself in the mirror. “You’re an old man, blinded by love,” he said softly to his reflection. What else was there to say? He loved Jenny and for a man of his age, in his position, love was a harsh dream, not a reality. The fact that she loved him back was a gift he would not easily give up, despite the things she’d kept from him.

Jenny said she would tell him, all of them, what her wise woman had said. Later, though; after Riley had a chance to compose himself. When everyone could be present.

The door to the bedroom opened and he caught a glimpse of Jenny in the reflection of the mirror, leaning against the doorjamb, her arms crossed. Her expression, even in the image, was nervous. She chewed lightly on her lower lip and shifted her weight slightly from one foot to the other.

“I…wanted to apologize,” she said, her lovely dark eyes cast down then flickering back up to meet his in the mirror. “I shouldn’t have kept anything from you.”

“No,” he said, “you shouldn’t have.”

Jenny’s mouth twitched slightly. “I’d understand if you wanted to kick me out of the apartment,” she said, straightening, raising one hand to push at the strand of dark hair that fell across her forehead.

“You would,” Giles said.

She grimaced fully at that. “I would, Rupert,” she said, sounding tired. Her hand ran along the whitewashed doorframe slowly. “I did come here because of the wise woman,” Jenny shook her head, “but in all the time I’ve been here, I’ve never seen anything that would lend any weight to her visions. Since I didn’t see anything, I didn’t see any reason to tell you.” She took a step farther into the room and hesitated. “It wasn’t until Willow called to tell us that Buffy was back that I even thought of them and that was only briefly. I was as lost in the miracle that was Buffy’s return as much as any of you.”

Giles turned slowly, leaning back against the dresser top, his hands resting on the wood lightly. “I know,” he said.

Jenny’s head came up sharply. “You know, or you think you know?” she asked warily.

“I know. I know what it’s like to be considered crazy for beliefs that run counter to everyone else’s. I know what it’s like to look at Buffy and think, this girl has beaten every prophecy thrown at her; the Master, Glory; the end of the world has been stopped by her tiny hands so many times. And I know what it felt like when Willow called us.” He allowed himself a soft smile. “There has only been one other time I’ve felt so happy.”

Blinking, a faint blossom of hope spread across Jenny’s face. “When?” she asked.

“When you married me.”

Her smile was like the spring sun after a harsh winter, sweet and tender. Giles opened his arms and Jenny came to him, leaning against him heavily. “I’m so sorry, Rupert,” she said to his chest.

“I know, love,” he said, stroking her back. “I know. But we’ve gotten through worse things than this.” He pulled away so he could look into her face. “And we will get through this, as well.”

Jenny nodded, a glimmer of tears pooling in her eyes. “Yes,” she said. She closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss onto her forehead. She tilted her head so her cheek was pillowed against his chest, nuzzling closer. Giles automatically tightened his grip on her, leaning his chin against her crown.

Tonight, they would meet and discuss Jenny’s wise woman’s predictions. He would have to be Watcher and Father.

Right now, he could be Rupert, husband and lover to Jenny. Pressing his lips into her hair, he said, “Bugger opening the shop. Let’s go back to bed.”

Jenny’s mischievous grin was his answer and, laughing like children, they ran to the bed, flinging themselves back into it. Giles tugged at Jenny’s pajama top, dragging it over her head and tossing it to the floor. Jenny squirmed closer, running her fingers into his hair and using that purchase to pull his face to hers for a long kiss.

Giles sighed when they finally broke it.

“What?” Jenny asked, her expressive dark eyes worried, suddenly afraid.

“There is one thing I shall always regret,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

“Rupert? What thing?” Jenny released his hair, pulling her hands away hesitantly.

Giles grinned wickedly. “We used up the last of the whipped cream last night.”

* * *

The Magic Box was the best place for meetings. As Xander often said, it wasn’t far from the convenience store, so someone could get snacks and if needed, there were weapons and books and, hey, Watcher in residence. Besides, it could seat more than four comfortably, another plus. “Not that Cordy’s and my apartment isn’t spacious,” he said, dropping a box of fresh doughnuts on the table.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “The closet space isn’t even big enough for my collection of summer shoes.” She waved her hand in disgust. “If my father hadn’t gotten in trouble with the I.R.S. and they hadn’t taken all of them.”

“And a good evening to you, Cordelia,” Jenny said.

The brunette picked up the box and opened it. “Doughnut?” she asked brightly.

“Thank you,” Jenny said, taking one of the pastries.

“Thank god you took one. I’m so hungry.” Cordelia snatched a doughnut out of the box herself, dropping onto the sofa. “The lunch break I have at work is horrible. Thirty minutes. Do you believe it? Even at high school, we got forty-five.”

“Scandalous,” Giles said as he trotted down the stairs to the ground floor. “Oh, doughnuts. Thank you, Xander.”

“Ahem?”

“And Cordelia. Are there, perhaps, any jelly ones?”

Xander gestured to the box. “Enough for you, Riley, Buffy and Dawn to each have one. If you’re really good, one of you might get two.” He flopped onto the sofa next to Cordelia, tossing his feet up on the table edge. “So. I’m guessing that something new and bad has happened, since we’ve been called back for another Scooby meeting.” He leaned forward abruptly, his hands laced together. “Anything we might need a heads-up on, before everyone gets here?”

Jenny and Giles exchanged glances, not a comforting thing in Xander’s world. The engaging grin he’d mastered slid off in disappointment. “Something tells me there is more we need to know.” Shoving back into the sofa, he sighed. “So. What’s the skinny?”

“What he really wants to know is how long we’ll be here,” Cordelia said.

“I beg your pardon?” Giles asked.

Cordelia rolled her eyes in exasperation. “God, I don’t believe it. I mean, you’re old, Giles, but Jenny, you’re still young enough to remember, right?”

Jenny frowned and shook her head slightly. “I’m sorry, Cordelia,” she said, “I’m not sure…”

“Hello? It’s Friday. Friday night? The night of dates?” Cordelia sighed. “Honestly, once you get married, it must suck the joy out of life.” Giles frowned at her but went on to answer Xander’s question. “The skinny, as you say, is that Riley narrowly escaped death. It seems that his troupe was attacked in South America, by the nest of vampires they were tracking.” Giles removed his glasses and, removing the handkerchief from his pocket, began polishing them.

Xander let out a low whistle. “That’s tough,” he said. It had been bad enough losing Buffy. Losing more than one person at a time…“Man, that’s gotta hurt.”

“Yes, well, he is, ah, noticeably upset. Or he was, when he spoke with us earlier.” Giles paced slowly. “H-he and Buffy left together.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” Cordelia asked. “I’m sure Buffy wouldn’t want her fiancé to feel bad.” She licked a finger clean. “If I had a fiancé, I wouldn’t want him to feel bad after he lost all his friends.”

“Cordy, not now,” Xander said, not impatiently.

She rolled her eyes but subsided with only a little pout. Taking another doughnut from the box, she ripped it viciously. Xander made a mental note to himself that he needed to do something really nice for Cordelia. Later. “So, anything else? I mean, we weren’t dragged here just to find out about Riley’s troupe being decimated, right? Doesn’t that happen all the time?”

“Th-there is more,” Giles said, removing his glasses and polishing them. “B-but it will wait until everyone is here.”

The bells on the door chimed and Willow and Oz entered the shop. “We’re here,” Willow said, waving her fingers at her friends.

“With pizza,” Oz said, holding two boxes aloft.

“Pizza?” Cordelia dropped the remains of her doughnut on the napkin.

“Kitchen Sink pizza,” Willow said, grinning.

“Oh, I think I love you both.” Cordelia threaded her way out of the furniture and to the others. “Not in a physical icky way, though.”

“No, of course not,” Willow said, her eyebrows arching. She took the top box and set it on the counter, opening it with a flourish. Oz was much more circumspect and stepped back, clearing the way for Xander’s rush.

“Pizza,” he said, delighted, “my favorite.”

The door chimed again, allowing Dawn, Riley and Buffy to spill inside. “Is that Kitchen Sink pizza?” Buffy demanded.

“Uh, oh, feeding frenzy,” Oz said, sidestepping to allow the Slayer access to the boxes. He and Willow exchanged grins over their friends’ heads, moving to let everyone get in. Xander, a slice of pizza in one hand, pounded Oz’s shoulder with the other.

“Thanks, man,” he said. “This really hits the spot.”

“Yeah, thanks guys,” Dawn said.

Everyone sifted through the shop, pizza slices in hand and found places to sit. For a time, there were no problems, just friends relating funny stories of things since they’d last seen each other. Xander finished off his slice of pizza and went back for another, passing Riley on the way. He paused, turning to face the sandy-haired man, sitting next to Buffy on the steps. “Listen, Riley, I’m sorry about what happened to your friends,” he said.

Riley’s jaw flexed and he glanced down at the paper plate in his lap, the slice of pizza on it barely touched. Buffy squeezed his shoulder in support. “Thanks, Xander,” Riley said, finally.

“I’m guessing we missed out on some back story, here,” Oz said. Even out of wolf form, he could pick up conversations across the room. Xander almost wished he had that ability but then again, there were all those other problems with being a wolf.

“Yeah,” Riley said, straightening.

From her perch in front of Buffy, Dawn twisted her head back to look at him, frowning. “You didn’t tell me anything,” she said, not quite accusing.

“We figured it was for the best, Dawn,” Riley said, stroking her dark hair. “There’s…well, there was a problem in South America.” He set aside his plate and got to his feet, pacing slowly.

“A problem?” Willow’s expressive face crumpled into a frown. “Another one?” The last words were so low Xander had a hard time picking them up.

“Not because of anything you did,” Cordelia said.

“Cordelia,” Giles said, “Willow. Please let Riley continue.”

Both young women subsided though Xander noticed Oz slipped a comforting arm around Willow’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Giles,” Riley said. He paused in the center of the room. “You know we were hunting a nest of demons.” He waited for their nods. “Some of them were, I think ‘idiot’ is too mild a term. But the leaders of the nest, they were clever. I caught a glimpse of them on a scouting expedition.” His shoulders slumped. “If I could have picked them off…but they were fast, moved through the trees and vanished. I’d see them sometimes, out of the corner of my eye but when I’d turn, they were gone. Like they were toying with me.” Riley straightened again, his expression shuttering. “If only I could’ve gotten them…my troupe, well, after I left to come here,” he swept an arm out, his hand seeming to point towards Buffy like a needle in a compass. “They were…wiped out.”

“Oh, no,” Willow said, her hands clapping over her mouth.

“It seems that,” Riley tilted his head back, a pained grin plastered on his face, “the vampires we were hunting, the demons? They knew we were there. They just waited until the right time and…” His voice trailed off. “It was…gruesome, from the report I was given.”

“That’s rough,” Oz said. “I’m sorry, Riley.”

“No one survived?” Willow asked softly.

He shook his head, his voice hollow as he said, “My friends were slaughtered.”

Dawn rose from the stairs, going to Riley and flinging her arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry, Riley,” she said, her voice muffled in his shirt. He patted her shoulders, only a little awkwardly.

“Thanks, Dawn,” he said then, “thanks all of you. I don’t know if…well.” The grimace flickered over his face again. “It’s been pretty traumatic lately. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Oh, you’re not so bad,” Cordelia said. “Nothing compared to, say, Faith.”

Everyone looked at her. Giles coughed. Xander rolled his eyes out of embarrassment for his girlfriend. Again.

“What? It’s true. Riley isn’t going to try to kill any of us.” She pointed a manicured finger at him. “Are you?”

“Nope.” He patted Dawn’s shoulder as she let go of him to lean on the arm of the loveseat. Willow stroked her hair absently.

“See?” Cordelia nibbled at what was left of the crust of her pizza. “Oh.” She leaned forward. “You don’t think those vampires would follow you here, would you? We’ve got enough of our own.”

“Vampires don’t hunt specific people,” Xander said, scoffing. “Do they?” He turned to look at Giles and Jenny.

“Kakistos hunted Faith,” Willow said brightly, then realized and sank back, mumbling “Probably not the best time to bring that up.” Oz tightened an arm around her comfortingly.

“I appreciate the warning,” Riley said.

“That was unusual, though,” Jenny said. “Vampires don’t usually track and hunt their prey when they can just pick them off anywhere.”

Buffy said, “Faith took out his eye. He wanted revenge. You didn’t actually do anything to them, the leaders, right? They’d have no reason to come after you.” Her voice sounded firm.

“Yeah, maybe,” Riley said, not quite convinced. His fist smacked into the palm of his other hand. “But if they do….”

Buffy rose from the stairs, saying, “If they do, they’re my business, not yours.” She stood in front of Riley.

“Buffy,” Riley said, “if they come, it’s personal.”

“If they come,” Buffy said, crossing her arms, “and that’s a pretty big if, they’re my problem. I’m not gonna let you be all macho and go against them, Riley. Vampires, demons, things that go bump in the night; in Sunnydale, they’re my problem. If they were strong enough to take out however many men you had, then what makes you think you can stand against them?”

“Ouch,” Cordelia said, almost under her breath. Xander agreed.

“What makes you think that you can?”

Xander knew Buffy only came up to about Riley’s chest. Hell, she barely came up to his shoulder and he was a lot shorter than Riley. But at that second, he would’ve laid money that Buffy towered over the soldier. “I’m the Slayer,” she said, her anger cold and controlled. “I’ve been killing vampires and hunting demons for more years than you’ve been a soldier. And if any vampires come hunting you,” she swept her arm around the room, “or anyone else here, in my town, they have to come through me first.”

“Buffy, you don’t understand,” Riley said, trying to speak reason.

“I don’t understand.” Her voice mocked his and her crooked grin didn’t imply any humor in the situation. “Why don’t you explain it to me, then?”

“P-perhaps this discussion should be continued later,” Giles said.

Buffy and Riley both turned towards him, Buffy impatient, Riley irritated. Xander thought that they might both go after the Watcher.

“Giles, this is important,” Buffy said.

“As is the m-matter you brought to my attention earlier,” he said firmly.

The fire drained out of her for an instant. “You’re right,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She went back to the stairs and sat down heavily. Dawn and Willow exchanged curious glances. Xander watched as Riley went to the counter and leaned on it, obviously not willing to go near Buffy in the mood she was in. Smart man. That left him to try to smooth things over and he went over and dropped onto the steps next to her, leaning his shoulder against her knee.

The tension thrummed through her leg but she didn’t move away, so Xander took it as a sign he wasn’t going to be the one killed. This time. “What’s the sitch?” he asked her quietly.

“You’ll find out,” Buffy said cryptically, lacing her fingers together.

“So,” Xander raised his voice, “what’s the sitch?”

Giles shot him one of his patented Giles’ looks. Xander raised his shoulders in a shrug. Might as well get it over with. Glancing heavenward, Giles turned back to the others. “Buffy, um, Buffy b-brought something to my attention earlier today.”

“You said that,” Cordelia said.

“Yes, well,” the arch glare was directed towards Xander’s girlfriend this time. He grinned to himself as Giles went on. “We thought it best to discuss it with all of us present.” He removed his glasses and stalked slowly around the room, polishing the lenses as he walked. “It concerns Buffy.”

Dawn jerked her head around to look at her sister. “Again?” she asked.

“So?” Willow asked apprehensively, rubbing her fingers together. “What is it?”

Jenny sighed, stepping up to the group. She shoved a loose strand of hair behind her ear and folded her arms. “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming on who I am,” she said slowly.

”I always knew she was a Russian spy. Dirty commies,” Xander said.

Buffy nudged him with her knee. “Shh.”

Cordelia said, “Would you listen to yourself? Oh, wait, that would involve engaging your brain, wouldn’t it.”

Xander gave her a hurt look but subsided. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be extra nice to Cordy, now.

“I,” Jenny said and swallowed. She waited a few seconds, her eyes meeting Giles’. “I am Romany; a gypsy; one of the Kalderash tribe.” She began to pace slowly, unconsciously following Giles’ path. “A long time ago, when I was very young, one of the elder women of my tribe pulled me aside and told me I would one day witness a miracle.” Jenny’s hand fluttered towards Buffy. “She said I would see a dead woman rise from the grave, like Lazarus, but by magic.” She turned and walked a little in the opposite direction, towards Riley. “But the woman would not be the same, she would be changed; different than the one who died.”

“That’s me,” Buffy said in a tiny, broken voice. Xander pushed against her knee comfortingly, giving her a smile. The corners of her mouth twitched in thanks.

“I had forgotten about this, quite literally, until Buffy came back.” Jenny hesitated, bowing her head. “The implications didn’t strike me, not fully, until this morning.”

“There’s more to this than just Buffy coming back, isn’t there?” Oz asked.

Jenny nodded slowly. “The elder woman said her coming heralded the end of the world.”

The words fell into a silent space and the quiet remained almost long enough for Xander to see Willow’s face fall, then firm; Oz’s eyebrows quirk upwards as if this information was no surprise; Riley’s stiffening and glance towards Buffy and Cordelia’s heavy sigh and “Of course, what else?”

Dawn’s shrill, “The end of the world? Again? Haven’t we already done that?” broke the tableau. Willow laced her arms around the girl’s waist, pulling her down into her and Oz’s laps and rocking her soothingly. Buffy moved, almost as Dawn spoke, brushing past Xander to rush to her sister, dropping onto her knees in front of Dawn to grasp her hands.

“I promise,” she said, her voice low and thick, “I promise you, Dawn. Nothing will happen to you.”

Dawn pulled out of Willow’s arms and away from Buffy, leaping to her feet. “You can’t promise that,” she said wildly. “You promised that last time and you died. Do you think that didn’t hurt? That losing you didn’t kill me?” She dodged Buffy’s reaching hands. “No! I can’t stand this! I can’t stand knowing this, that it isn’t over. That it’ll never be over. How many times,” her voice broke on a sob, “how many times do you have to die before you can live? How many times do I have to lose you?”

She smashed into Jenny, who wrapped her arms around the girl, holding her. Dawn struggled for a few seconds, then collapsed, wailing in the older woman’s arms. Buffy slowly got to her feet, meeting Jenny’s eyes. The woman nodded slightly, some sort of non-verbal shorthand, and Buffy dropped onto the arm of the loveseat. With a nonchalance Xander wished he could copy, Oz took Buffy’s hand and squeezed it.

The door opened with a resounding chime and Spike sauntered in, his long duster fluttering behind him. “Hel-lo, this looks tense,” he said, pausing on the threshold.

“It’s the end of the world,” Cordelia said, though she gave Spike that fish-eye look she always did. Chip or no chip, Xander knew his girlfriend didn’t trust the vampire.

“Yeah?” Spike cocked his head to one side. “Is that pizza?”

Dawn pried herself out of Jenny’s and ran across the room, flinging herself at Spike. He caught her automatically, holding the weeping girl. “What’s all this?” he asked.

“Spike,” Dawn said, tears gumming her voice, “it’s the end of the world and Buffy has to stop it.” She tossed a red glare at her sister, sitting with Oz and Willow. “She’s…she’s gonna die, again.”

“Naw, pet,” Spike said, patting Dawn’s back awkwardly. “Your sis ain’t gonna die. She’s tough.” He pushed her away a little, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Besides, she’s got me to back her up, and you know I’ll not let anything hurt her.”

“P-promise?” Dawn asked, her eyes overflowing.

“Cross my undead heart,” he said seriously and let her snuggle back up against him. “Why don’t you and me go outside for a bit and you can tell me what’s got you all worked up.” Spike started guiding her towards the door.

“That’s not a great idea,” Riley said.

Spike looked over his shoulder at Riley, his brows twisting. “Take it up with her sis,” he said, “if you gotta problem.”

“Riley, let them be,” Buffy said, “Spike won’t hurt Dawn.” She made a cutting motion with her hand when Riley started to protest. “Not now.” She waited until the door chimed, letting her know Dawn was safely out of the shop. “Okay, J-Jenny,” she stumbled over the woman’s name, “what else did your wise woman have to say about the end of the world?”

* * *

The bar was nothing special, just a little Irish pub, more a hole in the wall than anything. Still, it was a place where Doyle could pick up a pint, or two if he had the extra cash, and enjoy himself. Seated on a stool next to a bar of such dark wood as to be fathomless, the brass foot railing gleaming below, a pint of Guinness in front of him, well, it felt almost like home.

If anywhere could feel like ‘home’ anymore.

“Stop it,” Gunn said, from his perch next to him.

“Stop what?”

“I can feel that mope from ten paces,” Gunn said. “Just drink up and let’s get out of here.”

“What’s your rush, Gunn?” Doyle turned, resting an elbow on the bar top. “Feeling a little out of place?” He grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll tell everyone you’re black Irish.”

“Ha, ha,” Gunn said, the corner of his mouth twisting. “The rush is, we’re supposed to meet English in,” he squinted at the clock in the corner, behind the bar, “about a half an hour.”

“He won’t mind if we’re late.”

“We’re talking about Wesley, right?”

Doyle sighed and took a pull at his beer. It went down smooth. He wondered if he had the change for another. “He’ll wait.”

“Uh, huh,” Gunn said darkly. “What dream are you living in, Irish?”

Doyle waved off his friend’s argument. “If we’re a few minutes late, it’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

The pain struck like an ice pick powered into his skull by a sledgehammer, flinging Doyle’s head onto the bar. His skull cracked the counter but he didn’t even notice; too caught up in the visions that exploded behind his eyes.

Finally, the torture subsided to an acceptable level of agony and Doyle opened his eyes. Even the dim light of the bar stabbed into his brain and he promptly closed them again.

“Hey, man,” he heard Gunn’s voice, “you in there?”

Doyle groaned in reply.

“You gotta get up, man. Can you do it?”

Flailing around, Doyle found his hand caught in Gunn’s calloused grip and let the larger man haul him upright. Doyle wondered how he’d hit the floor, then decided it wasn’t worth asking. Feeling for his Guinness on the bar, he threw back the beer and wished it was whiskey. “God,” he said, almost making the word sound like a whole prayer in and of itself.

“What’d you see?” Gunn asked, his dark face coming into focus.

Doyle rubbed his temple, wishing again for a shot of whiskey. “Wes. We gotta get to Wes.” He staggered towards the entrance to the bar, feeling Gunn grab his arm to make sure he stayed upright.

“What’s up, Doyle? What’d you see?”

Doyle pulled up short as they reached the street, his eyes not quite up to the brightness in front of him. They teared up and he brushed at them impatiently. “The Slayer.”

“What about her?” Gunn asked, a scowl settling onto his features.

“We, I need to see her. I need to talk to her.” Doyle started off again, his balance righting itself as the pain subsided a little more.

“What for?” Gunn asked, guiding him towards the grey pickup.

Doyle paused, gripping the door handle. “It’s bad, Gunny,” he said, smiling sickly. “Worse than bad. All tied up in one little girl.”

“I don’t like this,” Gunn said.

“Neither do I,” Doyle said, popping open the door. “But we knew it was comin’, we always knew. Just didn’t know it’d be this soon.”

“What’s coming, Doyle?” Gunn looked as if he’d like to shake the answer out of him.

“It’s the end of the world, Gunn,” Doyle said as he hauled himself inside the truck, slumping into the seat. “The Slayer’s bringin’ the end of the world.”

* * *

The room was strange, cavernous; with television monitors scattered about. The man sitting in the center ignored all of it to study his companion, an oddly affable demon. “The one I seek still exists?”

The demon nodded. “He and his pack still roam, taking lives with impunity. Their hunting range expanded recently.” He tossed a sheaf of papers towards Daniel Holtz, who caught them automatically.

Holtz glanced down, his fingers not liking the texture of the pages. The print was somewhat unfamiliar, as well but he could read it. He shot a look back up at Sahjhan. “How did you get this?” he asked.

Sahjhan waved a hand nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Holtz studied the pages, tracing the letters with a forefinger. So many dead, in a land he’d never heard of. A troupe of soldiers, hunted down, decimated by vampires. He could see the handiwork of his enemy in the descriptive words. Finally, he set the papers aside. “I have waited for this,” he said. “How can you be sure where he is heading?”

Sahjhan smiled and spread his hands. “Easy. I’ve been tracking him for you for the centuries you’ve been sleeping.” He plucked a scroll from the top of one of the strange boxes he’d called televisions earlier, walking to Holtz as he unrolled the vellum. “See, there’s also something big going on.”

“I beg your pardon?” Holtz asked, frowning.

“You know, portents, prophecies, that sort of thing.” Sahjhan tapped the scroll. “And your boy isn’t about to miss out on something this big.”

“How big?” Holtz asked again, wondering if he had the patience to continue to deal with this demon. He wanted the information necessary to take his vengeance on the vampires who destroyed his family; turned his darling Sarah into one of their evil kind.

“Large,” Sahjhan said with that same smile. “But it won’t interfere with your plans. In fact, it could help them. We’ll know where he is, where the pack is, because they’ve got their fingers in the pie, as it were. Besides, I’ve got some friends, keeping an eye on them.”

He shot Sahjhan a glance. “Friends? Are these people you trust?”

Sahjhan twisted the scroll between his hands, a nervous gesture but his voice remained calm. “With the money I pay them? I don’t think they’d double cross me.”

“Are you sure?” Holtz persisted, pushing out of the chair and prowling towards the demon.

“Positive.” Sahjhan cocked his head to one side. “See, this big thing? Your boy is thinking right now that he’s in the driver’s seat. He’s sitting on the top of the world.” The demon flashed his teeth in a mocking grin. “What he’s really doing is being set up for the fall.”

“For the fall,” Holtz said, liking the sounds of those words. He allowed a smile to rise. “At my hands.”

“At none other than your hands,” Sahjhan said. He unfurled the scroll, showing it to Holtz. The markings were beautiful but strange, a language that Holtz couldn’t begin to recognize. “This says that there’s a convergence, set to happen. I planted these, here and there, all around the world, while you took your little nap. Got the attention of all the right people. They know all about this convergence and are going to be either taking pains to stop it or rejoicing in its happening.”

He turned away, heading for one of the television screens, tapping the box underneath it. It made a strange whirring noise and the image on the monitor blanked out, to be replaced with a bright, sunny day. Sahjhan stepped away, gesturing as a voice came from the television, saying, “Hi!” A man with an inordinate amount of brilliant teeth smiled out from the screen. Holtz immediately didn’t trust him. With those teeth, he surely wasn’t human. “I wanted to congratulate you on your interest in my little town. My name is Richard Wilkins and I’m the mayor of Sunnydale.” The scene changed somewhat, pulling away from the man to show him standing next to a road sign. The dark stone road reminded Holtz of the old Roman causeways. The sign read, “Welcome to Sunnydale.”

“This is where it will happen,” Sahjhan said, gesturing at the screen.

“Sunnydale?” Holtz asked.

“Also known as ‘Boca del Infierno,’” Sahjhan said.

Holtz frowned, trying to recall the language. His memory didn’t fail him, much to his relief. “The mouth of Hell?”

“That’s the place.” Sahjhan folded his arms, smiling at the screen. “Where it all comes together.”

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Wesley said, following Doyle and Gunn into the Hyperion Hotel.

“What is there to understand, Wes? I need you to call Rupert Giles or the Slayer, now.” Doyle spun, leaning his hands against the counter.

“But, our mission. ‘Help the hopeless?’”

“We can’t help anyone if the world ends, don’t you see?” Doyle rumbled his hair in agitation. “I need to see the Slayer. It’s important.”

“What’s important?” Fred appeared out of Wesley’s office, her eyes wide. “Did Doyle have a vision?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, a big one. Nasty, even.”

“Do you need aspirin?”

Doyle grimaced. “No thanks, Fred,” he said.

“What was in the vision?” Fred asked.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Wesley said, pausing in his search for Rupert Giles’ telephone number.

Doyle groaned. “Doncha understand? I saw the end of the world.”

“He’s right.”

The quartet whirled, seeing a man standing in the doorway, his messy brown hair standing out from his head. He continued into the lobby, a flannel shirt showing under his sheepskin jacket; a pair of worn blue jeans and roach-stomper boots finishing off the ensemble. Gunn’s mouth fell open.

“Lindsey. You’re taking quite a risk coming here,” Wesley said, dropping the rolodex back onto the desk.

The attorney shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, Wes, I’m not going back,” he said. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s wrong with Gunn?”

“Nobody ever said you was a cowboy,” Gunn said.

“Then you weren’t listening.” Lindsey’s boots clicked on the marble floor as he crossed to the desk.

“B-but your cover, Lindsey,” Wesley said, coming back around the counter. “Your just showing up here….”

“It doesn’t matter, Wes. I’m not going back to Wolfram and Hart. We have the information we need.” Lindsey shucked the jacket, dropping it on the counter. “Doyle’s right on the money this time. The senior partners are looking to raise a little hell on earth.”

“You mean?” Gunn asked.

”I mean,” Lindsey said grimly. “All the signs point to it.”

The door opened again, Kate appearing in it. “Well. If it isn’t our two-timing lawyer friend.” She tossed her mane of blond hair as she joined her friends, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter next to Doyle. “What’s with the cowboy get-up?”

Lindsey scowled. This wasn’t exactly going the way he’d planned. “Listen, I’ve been your bag boy for the past year, staying on at Wolfram and Hart so you had an inside man.” He spread his hands. “I’m not staying any longer.”

“Not even for Darla?” Kate said, the taunt evident in her voice. Fred drew a little closer, her head cocked to one side.

“Darla’s history, Kate,” Lindsey said. “When Penn turned her, I gave up on trying to redeem her.”

“You expect me to believe that.”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” he shot back at the taller woman.

“Children!” Doyle’s voice cut through their squabble. “You can kiss and make up later. Right now we’ve got something more important. The end of the world?”

“Right, Doyle,” Lindsey said, a little embarrassed but he shoved the feeling aside. “He’s right, Wes. A couple of vamps showed up yesterday, just after sundown. Male and female. She’s as crazy as…” He shook his head, not coming up with anything to associate with the madness in Drusilla’s eyes. “Crazy, I guess. But he…he’s powerful.” He made sure to exchange looks with all of them, even Fred though she seemed more confused than anything. “Dangerous.”

“We’ve faced dangerous before,” Gunn said, more than a little affronted at the implication.

“And so have I, every day I worked for Wolfram and Hart,” Lindsey snapped. “He’s different.”

“Does this pair, did they have names?” Wesley asked, a pen poised to write the information down.

“The female was pretty, small…”

Kate snorted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Trust you to notice that,” she said.

Lindsey ignored her. “Darla called her Drusilla.”

Wesley laid the pen and pad aside, removing his glasses. “Oh dear,” he said.

“Name means something to you, English?” Gunn asked.

“Yes,” Wesley said, pursing his lips. “She’s known, well-known, to the Watcher’s Council. She and Spike, along with Darla, Penn, James and Elizabeth, were a cadre in the eighteen hundreds. They were very dangerous. Between them, they killed five Slayers.” He stared down at the glasses in his hands, lost in thoughts. “They were considered unstoppable.”

“Well, they’re back together,” Lindsey said, hopping up onto the counter. “So I thought it was time for me to vamanos.”

“It was rumored that they had a leader,” Wesley went on, almost as if he hadn’t heard Lindsey. “His name somehow has remained unknown. He was a shadowy figure, cloaked in myths and legends. I believe I have the entries on what little is known about him in some of my books.”

“Call Giles, Wesley. I need to talk to the Slayer,” Doyle said, pointing at the Brit.

“Wait a minute,” Lindsey said, twisting around. “You know the Slayer? What am I saying; you were her Watcher for a while, weren’t you?”

Wesley straightened. “Yes, I was. Is this important?”

“Only that Wolfram and Hart might’ve had something to do with her dying,” Lindsey said.

“She’s been brought back to life,” Fred said helpfully, knotting her fingers together.

“We heard,” Lindsey told her, smiling a little to soften the sound of the words. Fred grinned back hesitantly.

“What do you mean, Wolfram and Hart may have had something to do with her death?” Wesley asked, returning to the counter.

“Yeah, we heard she died saving her sister’s life or something,” Gunn said.

“From a Hell God,” Lindsey said grimly. He pushed off the counter.

Gunn glanced at Doyle and then at Wesley. “Wes, I think Doyle’s right. We’re gonna need to talk to the Slayer.”

“I’ll ring Mr. Giles on the telephone,” Wesley said, reaching for the rolodex.


	5. Visual Echos

Buffy slowly walked up the steps to her house. Exhaustion wrapped around her like a thick blanket, cutting off emotions and feelings and everything of the good. All she really wanted to do was soak in a long bath and go to bed but she was afraid she’d fall asleep in the tub and drown.

Unlocking the door, she walked inside. Riley wasn’t in his customary place on the couch, not that that really surprised her. Their disagreement had only escalated after Jenny revealed what else she remembered the wise woman telling her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much.

“So, I’d rise from the dead and it’s the end of the world,” Buffy remembered herself saying.

Jenny had nodded sadly, spreading her hands. “I wish I had more.”

“B-but maybe we can get more?” Willow asked, twisting her head to look from Buffy to her one-time teacher. “There’s the ‘Net and-and Giles can contact the Watchers’ Council, right?”

“Not to mention the Giles collection,” Xander said, sweeping his hand towards the loft of books, off-limits to customers.

“Maybe I can find out something,” Riley said, sounding a little grudging but willing to help. Buffy remembered that he’d been like that, helpful.

“Thanks,” Buffy had said and Giles had taken notes on what little Jenny remembered from her youth about the statements of an elder of the tribe. “I don’t suppose there’s someone else she might’ve told these things to.”

Jenny tapped her first two fingers against her mouth, thinking. “Maybe,” she said. “I have an uncle. Perhaps the elder woman spoke to him or to someone he knows.”

Buffy blinked, remembering Jenny’s uncle. She couldn’t recall a name but she did remember the words, painted in blood on a wall.

“Buffy? You okay?” Oz’s voice had broken through the memories, jolting her back to the present. “You look a little pale.”

“Yeah,” she’d said and gave him a weak smile. And then, she’d gathered up weapons to go on patrol only to have Riley argue with her about that, too.

He’d followed her into the back room where she worked out and asked “Are you in any shape to patrol?”

“It’s no big, Riley.” She hadn’t bothered turning to face him. “This isn’t something new to me, going out with the end of the world hanging over my head.” Buffy picked up a stake, tucking it into her jacket pocket.

“But this, on top of everything else. I’m just thinking you might feel a little off your game.”

She’d spun around then. “Game? Is that what you think this is, a game? Riley, this is my calling. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.” She thumped her hand on her chest. “I’m the Slayer. The Chosen One. Or doesn’t that mean anything here? It’s my duty to go out and make sure that no one dies tonight.”

Riley’s jaw flexed. “It means something,” he said, his voice low and angry. Buffy watched his big hands clench and unclench. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care for you and that I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“But I’m not her, Riley. I’m not the one you got engaged to,” Buffy said, suddenly tired of all this. God, she wished she was at home, her real, true home. Here, she felt like an intruder into these people’s lives. She didn’t even dare think about heaven. “I’m a different person than that girl.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Riley asked, his frustration making his voice quiver. “But you are her, even if you’re you. The way you move, the way you smell; the way you think and talk and the way you’d protect Dawn with your life.” He drifted closer to her and she watched him out of the corner of her eye. “The differences aren’t as great as you’d think, Buffy.”

“Maybe,” Buffy had said doubtfully, “but maybe those differences are all that matter.” She tried to brush past him but Riley had grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

“I’m going with you,” he said.

“No.”

“Buffy,” Riley said, almost pleading.

She’d pushed those emotions his voice brought back aside, shoved them deep within herself and managed to meet his eyes. Those sweet, worried blue eyes, so different than…no, don’t go there. “I need you to make sure Willow and Dawn get home safely,” she said.

“Oz can do that. Let me come with you.”

Buffy shook her head, hard enough that strands of her hair came loose from the knot she’d put it up in. “No. No way. Not tonight.”

Riley folded his arms and blocked her way. “Why not?” he challenged.

Buffy glanced up at him, the irritation building again, even if she didn’t want it to. “Riley, I don’t need this right now. I need to go on patrol, by myself. I need you to take Willow and Dawn home.”

“What, you want to go moon over the vampire who doesn’t exist?”

The words cut deeper than Buffy thought they might. She bit her lower lip hard and pushed past Riley. “Take Willow and Dawn home,” she said and she’d stormed out of the store, barely saying her goodbyes. Dawn and Spike were still outside, Dawn leaning against the pale vampire like he was a giant stuffed animal or something. Buffy managed to keep from snatching her sister off of Spike, but only just.

“Riley will take you home,” she said to Dawn.

“What about you?” Dawn asked, her eyes widening.

“I’m going on patrol.”

“Maybe I’d better go with you, pet,” Spike said.

“I’m fine, Spike,” Buffy snapped.

Spike grinned, a slow, lazy curl of his mouth. “Aw, Slayer, don’t be that way,” he said. “Let’s kiss and make up.”

Rage flared in her gut at the thought. “Never gonna happen, Spike,” Buffy managed to say.

“Spike, cut it out,” Dawn said, smacking his arm. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home with us?” she asked Buffy.

Buffy sighed. “Dawn, I really need to patrol. It’ll help, you know?”

“At least let Spike go with you,” Dawn said.

“No.” The word came out stronger than Buffy thought it would but she didn’t back down. “I’m going. You go home.” She’d pointed at Dawn and spun on her heel, taking off for the nearest cemetery.

Where, Buffy had to admit, she’d had some good hunting. And Spike didn’t follow her, for once. Neither did Riley. And now the living room was empty and all she really wanted to do was climb those stairs, take a shower, since she really did feel tired enough to fall asleep in the tub and go to bed.

Turning off the lights, Buffy made her way towards her room, stopping to peer inside Dawn’s room to make sure her sister was all right. Dawn lay in a knot of blankets, one of her pillows on the floor, the other squashed in her arms. Buffy smiled fondly. Dawn was the definition of restless sleeper, twisting all over the bed. Knowing better than to attempt to straighten out anything on the bed, Buffy stepped back out of her sister’s room and went to her own.

She flicked on the light as she entered, stopping in the doorway as she saw who waited there. Folding her arms, she tried to hold onto the reins of her temper. “What are you doing here, Spike?”

He smiled at her from where he lay on her bed; stuffed animals shoved aside, pillows fluffed up behind his head. “Louder, Slayer,” he said, “I’m sure little bit an’ Red could stand to be woken up. Not like it was easy for them to go to sleep now, was it.”

Buffy leaned against the doorjamb, scowling at the blond. “You didn’t answer me,” she said, managing to keep her voice low.

“Just wanted to know why you drove all the way to Los Angeles to talk to a seer when your answers are. Right. Here.” Spike hooked his thumb at his chest in emphasis.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t said anything useful before.” She tossed her head, coming the rest of the way into the room.

“Come on, love, don’t be that way,” Spike made a show of scooting over on the mattress, pulling down the covers. His eyes twinkled as he ran his tongue over his teeth. “We didn’t kiss and make up earlier.”

“I’ll tell you this once, Spike. Get out of my bed.”

He obeyed, moving in that blindingly fast way vampires could, suddenly pressing her back against her vanity, his mouth a scant inch above hers. The breath escaping him was tainted with cigarette smoke and the faint copper scent of blood. Buffy met his eyes, refusing to back down. “I’ll tell you, pet,” he said, his voice a low murmur, the words cool against her skin. “Your Angel? He doesn’t exist. Ain’t no seer in the world gonna change that.” Spike started to move a little closer.

Buffy straightened, her eyes widening, then narrowing. “How’d you find out about…?”

“Li’l sis, she likes to talk,” Spike said, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “Told me all about it. How Red’s spell brought back the wrong Slayer. Again with a vampire with a soul, even though there’s never been such a thing. A trip to a demon seer in Los Angeles.” Spike tsked, shaking his head. “I thought I was part of the gang, Slayer. But nobody told me nothing about this. Like it ain’t worth your time to keep me informed.”

Buffy shoved him aside, stalking to the center of her room, claiming it as her territory again. “It isn’t any of your business, Spike,” she said.

“But you’re still looking for him,” Spike said, lounging against her vanity, playing with some of the jewelry there. “Awfully persistent of you.” He shot her a look. “Almost as if you’re obsessed.” He smirked and shoved off from the piece of furniture, prowling closer; getting in her personal space. “Maybe you’ll have to look elsewhere for your kicks.” His breath stirred the fine hairs next to her ear.

Buffy swatted at him like he was a mosquito. Spike caught her wrist and planted a fleeting kiss on her knuckles before she ripped her hand free. “Don’t ever touch me like that again,” Buffy snarled.

“Temper,” Spike said. “I like that.” He cocked his head, the smarmy grin firmly in place. “How do you want me to touch you, Buffy?” He leaned in close. “How did your Angel touch you?”

She hissed, “Do you think I’d tell you?”

“I think you might want to.” Spike traced a cool finger along her cheek. “I think you crave it, Slayer. Like a drug.”

Buffy thrust him back. “Get away from me,” she said, her voice thick.

Spike laughed. “For now, pet.” He blew her a kiss and tossed himself out of her window. Buffy ran to the sill, peering over to see Spike roll off the roof and land on the ground. He waved up at her cheerily and sauntered off into the night.

Buffy pulled the window closed and dragged the curtains over it. Suddenly, she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep in her bed, not where Spike had been. With a shudder, she gathered up her pajamas and hurried out of the room to the bath. The idea of falling asleep in the tub sounded more attractive every second.

* * ** *

Samael rose from the bed he’d shared with Darla and Drusilla, leaving both women in undignified heaps amongst the covers. Absently scrubbing his hand along his stomach, he padded to the doorway of the bedroom, snaring a silk robe from the closet on his way. He opened the door, remembering what Holland Manners had said, that the suite was theirs, well, his, until the deed was completed. As eager as Darla had been earlier, Samael didn’t doubt that the child predicted in the prophecies wouldn’t be long in coming.

Penn sat in the main room of the suite, lounging on a leather sofa, his hand cradling a remote control for the television. The channels flicked by rapidly, a continuous stream of images. The tow-headed vampire glanced over his shoulder at his master, the corner of his mouth curling up. “So,” he said.

Samael fished in his jacket for a pack of cigarettes, tossing one in his mouth and lighting it. “So,” he said around the butt. “The end of the world, just waiting for you.” He twisted around in his seat, running his tongue over his lower lip. “How does it feel, Samael, to be considered that important?”

He inhaled deeply, feeling his dead lungs expand, trying to think why he smoked. His senses weren’t designed to taste the flavor of a cigarette, to savor the scent. In all actuality, he tried to avoid smokers. The taste of nicotine-flavored blood wasn’t one of his favorites, despite what experiences Spike had extolled over the years. “What do you think, Penn?” he asked.

The younger vampire laced his fingers behind his head. “I think you’re ready. I think you’re just about thinking this place, those vermin, have to go.” He lolled back, tilting his eyes to look at Samael from an up-side-down position. “And I’m just thrilled I get to walk at your side for the final battle.”

Samael let out the smoke in a long sigh, the smoke curling towards the ceiling. “Dru and I will be going out later,” he said. “There are a few things we need to do before we leave L.A.”

“Heading for the Hellmouth?” Penn seemed excited as a child promised a treat. “You are taking all of us?”

“Maybe not the first time out, no,” Samael said and at the blond’s petulant expression, raised an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Just…Hellmouth? Slayer? She’s there, you know.”

Samael stubbed the cigarette out in a crystal ashtray. “Yes. I do.” With a wicked smile, he patted Penn’s cheek and headed back into the bedroom to collect his Seer.

* * *

The telephone rang, a loud jangling that dragged Rupert Giles from his rest. Jenny, rudely wakened from her sleep, rolled over in the bed, hugging a pillow over her head hiding from the alarm. With a sigh, Giles reached out and located the receiver, more from feel than anything else. It rang a second time before he could catch it and fumble it to his ear. A glance at the time snarled his gut. No one called after four a.m. except in the most dire emergencies.

“H-hello?” he asked the mouthpiece.

“Mr. Giles?”

“Wyndham-Price?” Giles winced at Jenny’s moan and lowered his voice. “What the devil are you about, calling at this time?”

“We tried the Magic Box, Mr. Giles,” Wesley said, his voice firm even in light of Giles’ irritated tones. “I wouldn’t have rang you at home unless—“

“Unless it’s an emergency.” Giles swung his legs out from under the bed, grabbing the telephone console and pacing with it away from the bed. He heard Jenny’s mumbled question about who was calling, what was going on behind him. “What is it?”

“Um, we’ve gotten a spot of bad news,” Wesley said.

“What kind?”

“I’m afraid to say that we have conclusive evidence that the end of the world is rapidly approaching.”

Giles glanced over his shoulder at Jenny. She pushed into a more upright position on the bed, her dark hair messily framing her face, her inquisitive eyes blinking awake. “You don’t say,” he said, walking back to the bed and sitting on it, tucking the receiver under his chin and setting down the console to grab his pad and pen. “What evidence have you received?”

“We have had a spy, if you will, working on the inside of a local law firm for some time,” Wesley said. “This law firm has been involved in some rather, er, ‘shady’, I believe is the vernacular, business.”

“Wesley,” a voice said from the background. “Talk plain English.”

“He don’t know how, Irish,” another voice said.

“Ahem,” Wesley’s tone became firmer. “At any rate, our spy has brought us information that the law firm is involved with demons who seek to bring about the end of the world.”

Jenny, her shoulder pressed into Giles’, gave him a look. She could obviously hear at least part of the conversation. He nodded. “Yes, Price, we also have heard a prediction about this apocalypse,” he said.

“It’s not exactly a prediction,” Wesley said, sounding nervous. “A-and Doyle has had a vision. It’s very important that he speak with the Slayer.”

“Buffy?” Giles shifted his grip around the receiver. “Whatever for?”

“He says it is quite important she come to Los Angeles. There is some information he needs to impart to her.”

“Have him give it now, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

There was a slight muffled argument in the background as Price relayed the information, then a new voice came on the line. “Giles, Doyle here. I can’t just give you the information. Sorry. I need to see the Slayer, I can’t come to her, she needs to be given this info in L.A. I know that means another trip for you and her, but I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t important, you know what I mean?”

Giles was afraid he did know exactly what the Irishman meant. “All right. I’ll get in touch with Buffy later this morning. Should…” he hesitated briefly, then plowed on, “would it be necessary for all of us to come, this time?”

“All of you? Nah, just the Slayer. What?” Doyle asked someone not on the line. “Sorry, Giles. We’ve got to go. Just come up here, with the Slayer. Or send her with someone. This’s big, man. Don’t fail us now.”

With that rejoinder, the line went dead in Giles’ hand. He stared at the receiver, somewhat perplexed, then set it back into the cradle.

“Who was that?” Jenny asked, picking a strand of hair from her cheek and looping it behind her ear.

“That,” Giles said, “was Wyndham-Price. It seems that Doyle, one of his associates, needs to speak to Buffy in person.” He turned to her, cupping her face in his hands. “And that your wise woman’s prophesy may be correct. Price mentioned the end of the world.”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Rupert,” she said, her mouth trembling slightly.

“No worries yet,” Giles reassured her, gathering her into his arms. “We’ve gotten through these things before.” He kissed her temple, rocking her gently. “How many times have we faced an apocalypse before?”

His wife relaxed slightly against his chest. “Do you want me to go with you and Buffy to Los Angeles?” She tilted her head to meet his eyes.

“If you’d like.”

Jenny sighed softly, pressing her lips against the hollow of his throat. “No, Buffy is a little nervous around me still. I’ll open the shop. You go.” She smiled to show that it didn’t bother her much. “She’s still getting her footing here, Rupert. Let’s try not to force too much more on her.”

“I wish it were that easy,” he said. He wasn’t sure how much more the girl could take. Glory had nearly done Buffy in before, his Slayer, and he didn’t doubt that this Buffy had experienced the same thing. Her mother had died, her sister had turned out to not be real, she’d been brought back from the dead (and he spared a brief thought on how Willow had managed to get that particular spell, too) only to find out it wasn’t her world she’d been brought to. Her own world was lost, according to her own soft, hesitant words, lost in a way that precluded her ever returning to it. He couldn’t even imagine the stress Buffy was under. The tiff with Riley last night had been minor compared to the hysterics he might have had, under the same circumstances.

“We’ll be there for her,” Jenny said, pulling Giles back down onto the bed with her, wrapping an arm around his chest, pillowing her head against his shoulder. Her voice was muzzy; already she drifted into sleep again.

“Yes,” Giles said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “We will.”

* * *

Lorne flicked a rag over the countertop of his bar. There was still a film of sawdust coating the air. He could see it in the rotating lights near the stage. Still, he couldn’t complain, not really. The workers had done an excellent job, getting the work done in what Doyle had assured him was record time. He’d given them a hefty tip out of his own cash, pleased with their work, once he’d gotten them to understand exactly what he wanted.

He felt good about it. With the wall Gunn’s truck had crashed into knocked down, the floor was a little bigger. Tomorrow, new chairs and tables would be delivered and once the bar was restocked, he’d be able to have the grand reopening. Lorne beamed to himself. He’d already gotten messages asking when he’d be ready for business again. People needed his services and he’d missed giving them. Besides, after dealing with that little Slayer he wanted nothing more than the normal person or demon wanting to be read.

Sighing heavily, Lorne did a full circle in the middle of the floor. It looked good. Not too caught in any particular time period, so nearly anyone would feel comfortable. The tabletops in the booth sparkled under the lights. The vinyl that he hated but put up with because it was easier to clean than anything else was clean. The lights all worked again. He allowed himself a congratulatory smile and sauntered over to the bar. A nightcap to top off the morning would be good then sleep, then he’d start making calls about restocking his liquids. Wouldn’t do to open without the top three sellers: beer, blood and brandy.

The sound caught his attention as he busied himself behind the counter. Raising his head, he blinked in surprise at the trio who appeared before him, all dressed in those sloppy hip-hop clothes. “I’m sorry, we’re not open for business,” he said, straightening up and fixing them with a gimlet eye.

The human hunched his shoulders, his lower lip shoving out into a pout. The other two were scraggly Geradan demons, their tentacles waving. Lorne was careful to avoid them. The tentacles were full of toxins that could cause bad reactions in nearly any other life form.

“We heard,” the human said, shoving his shaved head towards Lorne. “We thought we’d come early, avoid the rush.” His hands moved in some awkward way, the fingers stiff and thrusting into the air. Lorne wondered if the man might have some sort of affliction in his hands.

“I won’t be open until sometime later this week,” Lorne said, taking a step away from the gently waving tentacles of one of the Geradans.

“S’okay,” the human said, showing a mouthful of golden teeth. “We don’t wanna mess up your clientele.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lorne dodged the other set of tentacles. “Wait, is this a hold-up?”

“Yeah,” the human said, bobbing his head. “Sure is.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Smiling engagingly, Lorne gestured towards the stairs. “Get out.”

“Wanna say that again, man?”

“You really don’t want to piss me off,” Lorne assured the trio.

“Yeah?” The human rocked back, folding his arms and grinning confidently. “Who you gonna tell? Cops don’t care what happens to demons. Me and my friends know that.” He poked a finger at Lorne suddenly. “Give us money, we go away. Don’t give us money,” he waved his hands around, “we take out your bar. And we know you just got it fixed up real nice.”

“Listen, sweetie,” Lorne said, reaching over the counter and patting the young man’s cheek before the Geradans could move, “you want to try to take out my bar? Go ahead.” He noticed the two demons’ attention wavered from him, reminding him strangely of cows, just before his people would charge down on them. One of them made a strange, gurgling noise.

It almost covered up the soft tick-tack sound of someone coming down the stairs. Lorne and the boy turned towards the bar’s opening, watching as a pair of delicate feet laced into a pair of black high-heeled witch’s boots stepped down into the bar. A frothy red skirt hem appeared, followed by the willowy body of a brunette. Her languorous movements made her almost seem to be underwater. Pausing on the last step, she swept her gaze around the club. “How lovely,” she said, her voice nearly a purr.

Both Geradans gurgled now, shifting back and forth, their tentacles nearly twirling in their agitation. Their human companion stared at the woman in surprise, his jaw dangling. “Damn,” he said, “where you come from?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Dark star, it’s lovely here. There are lights, like the stars and the moon and the planets, all flashing at me.” She turned back, her shoulders rolling, the motion sliding down her arms until her hands moved, almost mimicking the Geradans. “Oh,” she said, swaying, “it calls to me.” With each syllable of the sentence, she pounced farther into Caritas.

“Good morning,” Lorne said, recognizing her as a vampire. “Caritas isn’t open for business yet. If you’d like to come back, or if you could leave a number, I’d be happy to call you when I have an opening date—“

Her ice blue gaze caught his attention. “Not open?” she asked, the corners of her mouth turning down. “But they’re here.” One of her hands fluttered towards the Geradans and their companion.

One of the Geradans shifted around the human, the other starting to follow. He noticed and nodded. “We just leaving,” he said, giving her an apologetic grin. “Don’t want no trouble.”

“Isn’t that funny.”

The new voice boomed in the nearly empty club and Lorne dragged his eyes from the female vampire to the steps, seeing someone dropping lightly down them. Dressed in black, with a ruby shirt to match the female’s dress, the male smiled lazily as he entered Caritas. His large hands rubbed together lightly then parted, opening wide. “See, we don’t want any trouble, either.” He walked farther in, past the female, running his fingertips along the edge of the bar. “Nice work,” he said, then brushed the dust on his pants. “Still needs cleaning, though.”

The young man tried to make a break past the female vampire, who dodged in front of him, wagging a finger. “Ah, ah, ah,” she said, a secretive smile on her face. “The party’s just started.”

“Party?” The man shifted back to the Geradans. “This ain’t no party.”

“You don’t say?” the male vampire asked, tsking. “See, I heard that Caritas was the place to go if you wanted a party.” He leaned his elbows on the bar top, his dark eyes fixed on Lorne. “And we’re in a partying mood.”

“Then you’ll have to come back when we’re actually open for business,” Lorne said. “First drinks will be on the house.” He laid his hands on the bar opposite the vampire. “But it’s a one-time offer. You have to leave now.”

“But I like it here,” the vampire said. He smile was lazy, almost casual. When he snapped back and grabbed the Geradan who stalked him, it startled Lorne. The vampire threw the Geradan across the room, sending it crashing into a wall. The human and the second Geradan drew back in horror.

“Man, you cain’t do that!” the man said, his eyes wide.

“Oh,” the vampire said, the smile not changing, “I think I do that.” The female giggled charmingly, clapping her hands together, delighting in the violence. “You like, Dru?”

Dru? The name echoed in Lorne’s thoughts, bringing out memories freshly set aside. He stared at the male vampire, comparing him to another. “You’re him!”

The vampire slowly turned, eyebrows lifting. “Him?” he asked, his voice low and silky.

Lorne stabbed a finger at the male. “The Slayer’s vampire.” His thoughts churned on the human mythos and something clicked. “Dark star. Lucifer was the dark star. The fallen,” his red eyes widened, “angel.”

“You know,” the vampire said, walking slowly in front of the bar, tapping his fingertips together. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard that.” He cocked his head slightly, as if listening to voices only he heard. He reached the Geradan at the wall and watched as it attempted to struggle to its feet. He kicked it in its middle, the squelching sound as he drew back nauseating. “Huh,” he said. “I heard your type were deathly dangerous.” He grinned, making claws out of his fingers and leaning close. “Boo.” Laughing soundlessly, he turned as if to start back towards the bar, then spun around and hammered two more blows into the Geradan’s soft flesh.

It gurgled frantically, its tentacles waving in protest. It lashed out at the vampire, cutting his face. He didn’t bother to touch the wound; instead, he leaped into the Geradan’s mass, jumping up and down on it. The Geradan’s cries of pain reverberated. Lorne ran from behind the bar, grabbing the vampire and yanking him off of his prey.

“This is my bar,” he snapped, “you will not behave this way!”

The vampire’s laugh was chilling. “You do know these three were planning on robbing you, right?” he asked, brushing off Lorne’s hands. “You should thank Dru and me for coming to your rescue.” He went to the female, draping an arm around her waist. She tilted her head up and lapped at the cut.

Lorne straightened his jacket cuffs. “I know who you are,” he said. “The Slayer knows you, too.”

“So I’ve heard,” the vampire said, tossing back his long hair and pulling a sad face. “It’s a shame, really. I’ve managed to keep out of the Watchers’ sight for so long, then this Slayer starts spreading the rumors of my existence.” He disengaged from Dru. “She’ll have to pay for that.” He sauntered towards the human, who darted a glance at Lorne. “I mean, I’ve worked very hard at keeping my name from them and suddenly, everyone seems to know who I am.” He grabbed the young man, pulling his head back so his throat was exposed. The man struggled but the vampire kept a tight, sure grip on him. “And I don’t like it.” His face changed from the human to the vampire mien, his yellow eyes glaring. The young man squeaked in terror. “I don’t like it at all.”

Dru watched, smiling, as the vampire bit into the young man’s throat. Her own laugh chimed like silver bells. The Geradan next to her squished and shuddered, its tentacles twitching, torn between going to its own and the young man who the vampire suddenly released. The man fell to the floor and twitched, his eyes rolled up in his head.

Lorne folded his arms. “If you’re doing this to frighten me, Angel, it’s not working.”

“Oh, darn,” the vampire said. He wiped his mouth delicately. “I guess we’ll have to try something else, won’t we, Dru?”

She smiled, showing a set of pointed teeth. “Let’s play, my star,” she said. “Please.”

He grinned down at her, then up at Lorne. “What can I say. I can’t refuse her anything.” He struck out suddenly, his boot catching Lorne in the face and sending him tumbling over the bar top. “Well, baby, what do you fancy first? Calamari or lizard?”

* * *

There had to be easier ways to wake up, Xander thought as the telephone next to the bed jangled. Or he thought he had, though it may’ve been something Cordelia moaned just before throwing a pillow over her head. At any rate, he found the telephone by smacking the top of the bedside table until the receiver clattered to the floor. A voice floated up from down there and he contemplated leaving it but somehow, Willow’s concern penetrated the early morning fog in his brain.

“Mm,” Xander said, or groaned or grunted.

“Xander, it’s Willow.”

As if he couldn’t guess that. “Mmph?”

“Listen.” A pause. “Are you listening?”

“Mmhmm.” He turned over in the bed, discovering while he was occupied with the receiver that Cordelia had stolen not only his pillow but also most of the blanket.

“Well, Giles got a call from Wesley in L.A. and are you sure you’re listening?”

“L.” Xander yawned. “A.”

The letters brought Cordelia’s partially out from under one of the pillows and she fixed Xander with one of her sleepy brown eyes. He could tell she was rapidly waking and almost foisted the receiver off on her but he couldn’t see her hands anywhere.

“Xander?”

“‘S’me,” he said, waggling the receiver hopefully at Cordelia. Her eye squinted in irritation and he put the receiver back to his ear, stealing some of the covers back spitefully.

“Oh, good. I thought maybe I had Cordelia. Anyway, Xander, Giles got a call from Wesley and we’re going back to L.A. I thought,” here her voice took on that slightly wheedling tone and he just knew she was twisting the phone cord around her fingers. “Maybeyou’dliketocometoo?” Xander fended off Cordelia’s attack on the blanket. “Wha-huh?” he asked, feeling almost coherent enough for actual words.

“Go to L.A.? With Buffy? And me and Giles, too. You know, solidarity. The Slayerettes, backing their Slayer?”

“Dawn?” Xander asked, starting to rally towards wakefulness.

“She’s gonna hang out at the Magic Box with Jenny and Oz said he’d take her to the movies if she wanted to see something.”

“How long?”

Willow translated his shorthand with the ease of long friendship. “We don’t really know. Giles just was, you know, Giles and sounded all British and stiff. I think it might have to do with the apocalypse.”

“Bad.” Xander frowned, chewing absently on a cuticle. Giles sounding stiff never meant anything of the good. He rolled his eyes at Cordelia, curiosity pulling her out from under the pillows more surely than him stealing them back. “When?”

“Soon.”

“Uh.”

“What is it?” Cordelia finally gave in and asked.

For an answer, Xander handed her the receiver, slumping back into the bed. Yeah, solidarity for the Slayer. It made sense. And, hey, weekend, so he could actually go to Los Angeles and not miss any work. He rolled onto his side to watch Cordelia digest whatever Willow was telling her. She nodded and made the same affirmative type grunts he did, though hers were a lot more coherent, as far as he was concerned. Xander smacked his lips and let his eyes drift towards closure again.

Then it hit.

Los Angeles. Buffy. Apocalypse.

“Oh, god.” Xander flung himself out of the bed, yanking open the chest of drawers and pulling out a pair of jeans. “Oh, god.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes expressively as her fiancé darted into the bathroom. “Yeah, Willow,” she said, “he’s finally awake. I’ll get him to the Magic Box in a half hour.”

* * *

Kate shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t like the feel of the day. Something clung in the air, made it seem strange and shivery. She didn’t mention it to her friends even though she knew they’d pay attention. When she’d been on the force, she’d chalked up this sensation to cop’s intuition. Now she wasn’t sure what to call it.

It was late for her. She’d grown accustomed to the night shift, working with Wesley and his people. It wasn’t much different than being a cop. She still was on the side of the good guys even if the bad guys were much more than thugs and creeps but the monsters she’d had nightmares about since she was a little kid. But if she did her job right, the monsters wouldn’t scare anyone else any more. And that was a plus.

“Hey, Kate,” Gunn said, appearing like some sort of dark-skinned apparition, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “Brought you this.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the mug and tasted it. The faint bitter aftertaste of caffeine stung her throat and she sighed. “Better than mother’s milk.”

Gunn laughed and leaned against the wall next to her, his own cup in hand. “So, what do you think about our boy’s end of the world threats?” He swung his gaze towards where Lindsey sat with Wesley and Fred, who both took notes on whatever the now ex-attorney told them.

Kate moistened her lips, her pale eyes narrowing as she studied the long-haired man. “I don’t trust him but you already know that.”

“Don’t really know that any of us do,” Gunn said almost cheerfully. “I’m sure as hell not letting him be alone with any of us.”

“Not a bad idea.” Kate took another sip of the coffee, rolling it in her mouth. “What about the Slayer? What did Doyle say about her?”

Gunn shrugged eloquently. “Don’t know. He didn’t want to talk about it to me.” Though his tone was light, Kate could tell her companion was disappointed. “But if his vision matches up with what our cowboy has to say, I’d say we got problems.”

“Mm.” Kate straightened, catching sight of a group of people making their way through the hotel courtyard. “Head’s up,” she said, raising her voice to alert the others. “We’ve got company.”

Lindsey ducked into Wesley’s office, closing the door behind him as the others drew together, presenting a united front towards whomever might dare to approach the hotel lobby. Kate relaxed slightly, recognizing three of them from before. “Ease up,” she said, not taking her eyes off of them. “It’s the Slayer.”

“Fred, if you would please find Doyle,” Wesley said and Fred responded in the affirmative. Kate could hear the other woman scuttle off deeper into the bowels of the hotel to locate Doyle. Gunn set aside his coffee and folded his arms, in that instant changing from the affable young man to a deadly street fighter. Kate pulled on her cop persona, her face settling into the familiar stern lines and her stance firming. Neither of them would let their friends get hurt willingly and while Wesley trusted the Slayer, they didn’t trust too many people outside of their little group.

The doors swung open and the older British man walked through, the tiny blonde glancing automatically around the room as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting. Kate approved. The girl didn’t miss a trick, even taking a quick step so she was ahead of the others in her group even if they didn’t realize it. “Hey,” she said, catching sight of Gunn and Kate, “I see you’re waiting for me.”

“Actually, that would be Irish,” Gunn said, “but, yeah, we’re standing guard.”

A corner of the girl’s mouth quirked. “Better you than me,” she said and continued into the lobby, the others following her. The boy, for he was that, no matter what his age, goggled up at the ceiling, letting out a low whistle. The redheaded girl, who’d come the last time, walked casually with the older man. His attention focused on the Slayer, he gave only the barest of sideways glances at Kate and Gunn. Kate bit back an expression of surprise. By that sharp gaze, she recognized a fellow warrior, even if the man was older. He would no more allow this girl to go into a situation unprepared than she would allow Wolfram and Hart through the doors of the Hyperion without a challenge. Gathering up her coffee, Kate trailed behind the quartet like a reluctant puppy. There was more to the little blonde than met the eye.

* * *

Holland Manners clicked off the video and spun in his chair to face Lilah Morgan. “It didn’t take very long for him to try our Darla, did it?” he asked, a beatific smile spreading across his face.

Lilah folded her arms, her cool face revealing no emotion. “Did you expect it would, Holland? Darla did tell us that he would be more than willing.” She personally had been surprised that Darla would accept the punishment doled out on her body before the coupling but somehow, it made sense on an animalistic level. The male had to exert his dominance over the pack that he’d been separated from. Darla had taken control. He had to wrest it back from her. Lilah was only happy to think that she would never be left alone in the same room as the male vampire. Kinky sex was best experienced from this side of the whip as far as she was concerned.

Holland nodded, a smile creasing his face. “I just didn’t realize he’d be so eager.” He clapped his hands together. “No matter.” He swept the office with his gaze, turning an engaging grin towards the woman. “Tell me, where is Lindsey this morning?”

Her left shoulder lifted in an almost imperceptible shrug. “I’ve paged him and he hasn’t answered,” she said. “I’ve also contacted his secretary and Jennifer said he hasn’t arrived yet.” Folding her hands together, Lilah said, “My informants did say that he left his apartment last night and he hasn’t returned.”

An eyebrow raised and Holland pulled the corners of his mouth down in surprise. “Is that so? Do we have any idea where he went?” His fingers tapped lightly on the desktop.

“Not yet. I do have people looking into it, Holland,” Lilah said. She did, too. She wanted to know where Lindsey was. She needed him, if nothing else as a scapegoat should something go wrong.

“All right. As soon as you hear something, let me know.” Holland turned his attention back towards the television screen, an obvious dismissal.

Lilah nodded and strode from the office, closing the door behind her; happy she wasn’t asked to view the video a second time. There was something about that male vampire that could get under her skin and she didn’t want Holland to realize it. He was not the most handsome man she’d ever seen but there was something raw and powerful about him, the predator in him gleaming off his skin like an incandescent glow. She shuddered and pressed her thighs together. No, she decided, she didn’t ever want to be left in a room alone with him. Not unless she could be sure she had the upper hand.

* * *

“I can’t believe this,” Xander said.

Doyle pursed his lips. The blighter had been saying that since they got into the car to go to Caritas. It was probably the tenth repeat. And he thought Fred got repetitive at times. She was nothing compared to this boy.

“Xander,” the redhead said.

“What, you don’t think it’s weird?” Xander asked. “A demon who listens to people sing karaoke and then tells their future?”

“Or their pasts,” Buffy said, her pretty eyes haunted by more than ghosts. Doyle squeezed her shoulder bracingly, wishing he could take that pain away. He knew. He knew that the Slayer’d been dragged from Heaven. Lorne told him what the Slayer’d lost. “Don’t you be worrying,” he said.

Her smile was wry. “You can’t even tell me what your vision means,” she said.

Doyle bobbed his head in agreement. “Which is why we go see Lorne. Get him to decipher this.”

Giles flicked his eyes at the mirror. “I-I beg your pardon, Doyle, but when we spoke earlier, you did say that you had a vision.”

“Yeah, do we get a preview of the apocalypse, or what?” Xander asked.

Doyle sighed. “It’s hard,” he admitted, “really hard to explain. Kinda like there’s variables.” He caught Willow’s nod of encouragement or understanding, he wasn’t quite sure which. “See, what I saw, it doesn’t make sense even to me. I mean I saw bad things, a whole lotta bad things.” He shuddered, remembering some of the things he’d seen in the vision; dragons wheeling in a dead crimson sky, bodies littering the ground.

“What can you tell us?” Buffy’s voice was soft but strong, honey dripping along a steel rod.

“Uh, not much.” He didn’t want to tell her about the vision of her and her friends, dead and dying. “Besides,” Doyle made his voice firm, “Lorne’s so good at the interpretation gig, you know? Best have him take a look-see and do the hard job of figuring it out.”

“Huh.” Xander subsided at that thought, absently drumming his fingers on his knee. Doyle glanced at him, then at the redhead seated between them. The Slayer sat in the front with her Watcher. He wasn’t sure why Xander’d been invited along on the trip but here he was. He wondered exactly what that Cordelia girl that Wesley still got moony over once in a while saw in the boy. Doyle thought he was daft.

“Oh, here, Giles. Turn here. And it’s the next block up.”

“Yes, I recognize it,” the Brit said, though he sounded pleasant rather than pissed about it. He parked the car and they climbed out, heading for the doorway to Caritas.

“Let me get that, princess,” Doyle said, grabbing the handle on the door and tugging. It swung open gently and he wondered that Lorne had remembered, finally, to oil the hinges so they didn’t squeak. The Slayer hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, her eyes widening. Doyle caught the scent rising up the stairs, a silent welcome of pain. “Lorne!” He tried to push past the girl but she caught his arm, holding him back.

“I go first,” she said, her voice low, pulling a stake from a purse that looked too small to carry anything that dangerous. She glanced at the others. “Stay here.”

“What is it, Buffy?” the redhead asked, her expressive face falling into a concerned frown.

Her attention already focused elsewhere, Buffy said, “Blood. I can smell blood.”

“A-are you sure it’s safe?” Giles shoved at his glasses. “We’ll follow.”

“No.” She whirled on him, the predator in her so evident to Doyle that he was amazed the others didn’t fall back upon seeing it. “Stay here. I can’t protect you down there.” And saying that, she disappeared into the black hole that was the stairwell to Caritas.

“We should go after her,” Xander said, starting for the door.

Doyle grabbed him. “Hold on, boyo. Your Slayer said wait. We’re waiting.”

“But we can help,” Willow said, dancing anxiously from one foot to another.

“Buffy is in a rather trying time right now,” Giles began then sighed, his shoulders drooping, suddenly showing his age. “But she is right. We will wait here until she calls.”

“But,” the redhead protested.

“Willow, quiet, otherwise we won’t hear if Buffy calls for our assistance.”

Doyle glanced from one to the other, the bouncing in place of Willow, her hands wringing together, the studied nonchalance of Xander, who kept his gaze firmly on the doorway and Giles polishing his glasses with a handkerchief retrieved from a pocket. He studied the lenses carefully before settling the glasses back on his face and tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket. He pulled out the keys to his car and calmly unlocked the boot, revealing a stash of weapons that would’ve made Gunn drool. He took up a wicked double-recurve bow and a quiver to match while the redhead took a baseball bat and the boy a small Roman sword, a pair of stakes tucked into the deep pockets of his painter pants. “Mr. Doyle?” Giles asked, gesturing towards the trunk, still containing weapons, “You might want something.”

“Thanks,” Doyle said, grabbing a nice hand axe from the collection.

Giles closed the lid and nodded. “Right, then. Willow, to the rear. Xander, you and Doyle protect Willow. I’ll go down the stairs first.”

They started forward as a unit, Doyle revising his thinking about the trio, especially the boy. Giles pulled open the door and stepped inside, gesturing at the others to follow but not too closely. He made his way down the stairs, arrow on string and bow slightly pressed. Creeping carefully to the opening that led into the club, he hesitated.

The Slayer appeared, snatching the bow out of Giles’ hands. “I thought I told you to wait on the street,” she snapped.

“We waited for two minutes,” Giles said, “and you didn’t return. We thought you might need some assistance.”

She glared at him for what seemed like a long time, then her expression relaxed into a fond, though tired smile. “All right,” she said, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She stepped aside, laying the bow and arrow on the bar top, standing out of the way of their view.

“Oh, god,” Xander said, choking on the words. Willow nearly dropped the baseball bat but somehow managed to keep hold of it. Doyle could hear her frantic swallows as she tried to keep from vomiting. Giles moved across the room, stooping next to the black boy on the floor.

He touched the boy’s throat, trying to find a pulse. His fingers came back smeared with blood. “Dead,” Giles said softly. He glanced around the room, his eyes lighting on the remains of a demon and he carefully made his way to it. “This is bad.”

Xander, his left wrist pressed close to his mouth, said, “Bad? Bad? Giles, oh master of the understatement, this is a slaughter. The kid, the Cthulu reject, hey, that isn’t your buddy, is it?” He turned to Doyle, compassion shining in his eyes.

“No,” Doyle said, shaking his head. “They’re Geradans. Careful, Giles.” The Watcher knelt next to the demon on the floor. “Their tentacles are toxic.”

“Yes,” Giles said, “and something tore them off.” He swept a hand beyond the body. “Something with incredible strength.”

“And a real kick for violence,” Buffy said, her voice sounding almost normal. She hooked a finger beyond the bar. “There’s another one of those Geranimals back behind the counter.” She shook her head as Xander moved closer, as if to take a peek. “You don’t want to see, trust me.”

“So who did this?” Willow asked, the words squeaky.

“And where’s Lorne?” Doyle asked, spinning to survey the club. He couldn’t spot his friend anywhere and a sick feeling flooding his stomach.

Her hands clasping together, Buffy said, “I didn’t see him.”

Doyle ignored her, running towards the back rooms where Lorne lived. The Slayer followed him with a shout but he ducked through the doorway and careened off the narrow walls as he made his way to a series of doors. “Lorne!” he shouted, Buffy pounding behind him. Flinging open the first door, Doyle took in the storeroom where nothing seemed to be harmed. Buffy caught his shoulder and flung him back into the wall before he could go any farther.

“Don’t do that,” she said, furious. “I can’t protect you if you run away like that.”

“Yeah, an’ he could be hurt,” Doyle snapped, pushing off her restraining hands. “I’m not one of your gang, Slayer. You don’t order me around.”

Her eyes narrowed but she nodded once curtly, stepping back to let him open the next door. It was dark inside and musty, obviously long unused. Doyle checked it out anyway but the Slayer was already moving to the final door and turning the knob. He caught up to her as she pushed it open, letting it swing into a room that looked like a flashback to the nineteen-seventies, disco ball swinging from the ceiling, avocado green, harvest gold and pale orange wall paper, beads cordoning off one part of the room from another. Doyle gulped, fighting with his desire to heave out his insides.

Someone had taken great delight in trashing the room. Fluff from the pillows still floated gently in the air. A strange stain of copper marred the effect of the flocked wallpaper and the table underneath it was standing on edge.

“He fought back,” Buffy said quietly, entering the room.

Doyle trailed after her, fighting to control himself. The sight made him want the added protection of his demon form.

Lorne hung in bits on the walls. His torso was flung across the bed, his head facing the mirror, so the reflection showed wide eyes, an astonished expression, a mouth drooping open.

“Buff? Buffy?” Xander’s voice carried down the hall and he skidded to a stop inside the room. “Oh, man,” he said softly. He huddled next to the doorway, shooting glances into the room. “What happened?”

“My friend got murdered,” Doyle snarled, taking three giant steps back and clutching the front of Xander’s shirt. “He’s dead.”

“Doyle.” The Slayer was suddenly next to him, her hand on his wrist. He could feel the pressure on the bones and knew she’d break his arm if he didn’t release her friend. With a shake of his head, Doyle moved away from the kid, letting go. The Slayer loosened her grip on him, giving him an awkward pat on the arm. “I’m sorry, Doyle,” she said, sounding as if she meant it. “I liked Lorne, too.”

He jerked free, stomping to the middle of the room. “If they’d just cut off his head,” he said softly. “Just his head, he’d’ve survived this.”

Xander cleared his throat behind them. “Uh, I really don’t want to interrupt or anything,” he said, “but doesn’t it look like that arm is pointing at something?”

Buffy and Doyle turned to the limb, tacked to the wall. It was hung above a personal karaoke machine, the fingers curled back in except for the index finger, poised above the “on” button. Exchanging a look with Doyle, Buffy picked her way across the room carefully, avoiding the mess on the floor. Frowning, she turned the machine on.

The sound screeched through the speakers. Doyle clapped his hands to his ears at the electronic wail that bounced off the walls before Buffy managed to find the volume control. The music thumped heavily, compulsively, and a man’s voice sang as if on a continuous loop, “Do you wanna die? Do you wanna die? Do you wanna die?”

Doyle thought Buffy’s eyes would fall out of their sockets, they were so big. She slammed her fist against the machine, cutting off the next line in a squeal. She pushed a button to open the disc player and snatched the CD from its holder. Visibly trying to control herself, she turned back to Xander, the skin around her lips paling to white. “Slayer,” Doyle asked, “are you okay?”

She shook her head once, nearly violently. “I-I just want to get out of here.” Her back stiffened. “There’s no one else here. I don’t know if you call the cops or what, in L.A.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Doyle said soothingly, hoping the little thing wouldn’t fly to pieces in front of him. “Why don’t you and your mate go on out of here go wait outside?” He fixed Xander with a mad blue gaze. “It’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, Buff, why don’t we mosey on out of here?” Xander offered her an arm to shelter under and she took it, allowing the boy to lead her out of the room and down the hall. Doyle could hear Xander’s soft words, though he couldn’t catch what he actually said. Not that it mattered.

Puffing out a long, slow breath, Doyle glanced around the room one last time. He’d have his friends come back to do the honors for Lorne. Right now, he had to get the Slayer to someone else who might be able to explain the vision. Slowly, he left the room and his dead friend, consoling himself with the thought that others might die unless he hurried.

***The view was incredible, a panoramic scene overlooking the city of Los Angeles. Sahjhan stood with his hands behind his back, staring out at it, the smog that blanketed the tops of the tallest buildings, the glints of sunlight straining to touch the earth below. He wondered idly if it were true, about a penny being dropped off the Empire State Building gaining enough speed in its descent to kill a human.

He wondered what that might do to him.

Perhaps it was a good thing they were so far from the capital of the United States.

Sighing softly, he studied the city before him. The sparkles of metal far below, vehicles loaded with passengers intent on going somewhere important only to them, offices full of humans, offering up the particular cruelty only they could to each other. Oh, surely there were some good ones but most were driven by greed or hatred or vengeance. Take Holtz. Willing to be put in cold storage for the hatred he had for a certain pair of vampires. He thought he was the player. Sahjhan paced in front of the window, surveying the scene. Holtz was a fool. They were all of them fools. Even this man who walked through the doorway to the room now, trailed as always by that insipid female, was a fool.

Still, dealing with fools led to good business, as long as they realized you held their reins.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Manners, Ms. Morgan,” he said. “I’m so glad you could make time to see me.”

“We always make time for our clients, Mr. Sahjhan,” Manners said, smiling that jovial smile, the one that said one thing and meant something entirely different. “It’s part of the package deal with Wolfram and Hart.” He almost wagged his finger playfully at Sahjhan. “But you should know that.”

He allowed himself a smile. “Oh, I do, Mr. Manners.” He sat down and indicated that they should as well. They both took a seat across the table from him. “Isn’t Mr. McDonald coming as well? I was looking forward to speaking with him.”

The woman shifted slightly in her seat, saying, “Lindsey was unavoidably detained, Mr. Sahjhan.”

With a nod, Sahjhan said, “Too bad. But I suppose that’s life.” Tapping his palms on the tabletop, he went on. “And our little experiment? How is that going?”

“We can safely say that the ball has been set in motion, Mr. Sahjahn,” Manners said. “A pair of vampires arrived, as you said they would. It shouldn’t be long before the child is conceived.”

“They’re in the suite, then?” Sahjahn was interested.

“Yes. The pair went out to run an errand, they said, but they have returned.” Manners’ smile was extravagant. Sahjhan wondered how he felt, playing a pimp to a pair of bloodsuckers and decided it really didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things.

“And the spells on the suite?” he asked.

“Still active. Our staff makes sure they’re refreshed every day, per your requirements,” Morgan said, leaning her elbows on the table and entwining her fingers.

“Then our results are guaranteed.” Sahjhan almost let out a smile at that idea. Once the vampires bred, the whelp would start growing at a rate enhanced by the magic wrapped around the suite. The female vampire wouldn’t survive the pregnancy, not as quickly as the child would be brought to term, but that didn’t matter. The child would be born; there would be one less vampire to deal with. Not a bad thing, he thought to himself.

Manners nodded, that beatific grin still firmly in place on his mouth. “They are, Mr. Sahjahn,” he said.

He rose to his feet then, both humans following his lead. “Excellent. Exactly what I wanted to hear, Mr. Manners.” He nodded at them both in farewell and waved off Manners. “I’ll show myself out, thanks.”

The door closed behind him and Lilah sucked her upper lip between her teeth, the only sign that she was perturbed. Dealing with one of the senior partners always made her feel that way.

* * *

Buffy chewed on her lower lip, staring at the CD in her hand. The top side had a woman’s face in profile, the hole obscuring a portion of the face and three round silver dots taking over parts of the disc. A black cog encircled all of it. She could make out green letters on the outer rim but the cog piece made it nearly impossible to read them. She flipped the disc in her hands, glaring down at it. It wasn’t one she recognized at all.

Looking up, she watched without really paying attention as Doyle told his friends what had happened to Lorne. Wesley sucked in his cheeks, making them seem almost as hollow as Spike’s. Fred shook her head, her eyes full of anguish. The others seemed equally as shocked at the destruction of Caritas and its host.

Willow sidled up to Buffy, her head cocked to one side. “Whatcha got there?” she asked, feigning some interest.

Buffy handed her the disc. “Do you recognize this? I mean, I know it’s a CD, Will. I want to know one of the songs on here.”

“I don’t know,” Willow said, “but maybe we can try playing it on the computer.”

She shook her head slightly, folding her arms. “I think it’s damaged,” she said, “it only played a part of a song when I,” she dropped her head, studying the floor beneath her feet. “You know.”

Willow sighed softly, not quite discouraged. “There isn’t a name on here,” she said. She twisted the disc in her hands, squinting slightly and tucking back a loose strand of hair in an attempt to see the words better. “Nope.” Shrugging, Willow glanced towards the computer. “It doesn’t mean I can’t figure it out, though.”

Buffy gave her a smile, laying a hand against Willow’s shoulder. “If anyone can do it, you can, Will.”

Beaming, the redhead nodded. “Let me at ‘em.” Slipping past Wesley’s group, she dropped lightly into a chair in front of the computer system and inserted the CD. “Just a matter of letting the computer do the work for us,” she said, fiddling with the ends of her hair. Buffy leaned over her shoulder, watching as a screen came up, showing her first the words “Unknown Artist” then a few seconds later, “Toadies” and “Mexican Hairless”. Willow tapped a finger on the screen. “The name of the disc is ‘Rubberneck’,” she said.

“Anyway to figure out what song I was listening to?” Buffy studied the titles listed for the songs. None of them sounded at all like anything that might have a chorus of “Do you wanna die?”

Willow nodded. “We can look up the album on the ‘net and find the lyrics. It won’t take long.” She slid the mouse up to minimize the window and brought up the connection to the Internet. Buffy realized as her friend worked that the sound of the Doyle’s voice had died down and she glanced behind her to see Fred and a guy she didn’t recognize looking at her with equally curious expressions on their faces.

“Got a problem?” she asked.

“No,” the man said, adjusting the cuffs of his flannel shirt as if it were a silk jacket, “just wondering what you’re doing.”

“Whoever trashed your friend’s place and killed those people may have left a clue behind,” Willow said, not taking her eyes from the screen. “Aha! Got it. The lyrics to The Toadies.”

“The Toadies?”

“Rock group, I think,” Buffy said.

“I say, what are you doing?” Wesley poked over, his nose almost twitching.

“Looking for clues,” Willow said, pulling up another set of lyrics. She skimmed it quickly, her eyes flicking down the column, looking for the key words. “Huh. Who are you, Velma?” the flannel-shirted guy asked.

“Nope,” Buffy said, dropping her hand on Willow’s shoulder. “Better. Velma wasn’t a computer whiz like our Will, here.”

“Yeah,” Xander chimed in. He eyed up flannel shirt. “Hey, who are you?”

The man drew himself up, his height not much more impressive than Xander’s as far as Buffy was concerned. “Lindsey McDonald,” he said. “And you?”

“Xander Harris. You weren’t around earlier.”

“Oh, I was here.”

“Hiding?” Buffy asked, turning around and leaning her hips against the desktop, folding her arms.

“Occupational hazard,” Lindsey said, “when you aren’t sure who’s walking in the door.”

“Does that mean someone’s looking for you?” This was a little interesting.

“You don’t want to know who might be looking for me,” Lindsey said, a smile curling the corner of his mouth, his eyes daring her to ask.

“You’d be surprised.” Buffy glanced at Willow, who brought up two more sets of lyrics while they were bantering.

“Yeah, I hear you’re the Slayer,” Lindsey said. “My ex-bosses aren’t real happy you came back to life.”

“Hey!” Willow spun in the chair, causing Buffy to leap out of the way to avoid being knocked down by her friend’s knees. “We’re happy to have Buffy back. We missed her.”

Lindsey held up his hands placatingly, his eyebrows arching up into his longish hair. “Hey, I don’t have a problem with it, Red. Just that it throws a monkey wrench into their plans. And what’s bad for them is good for us.”

Willow, with a scowl, turned back to her computer. Buffy smoothed her hair back out of her face. “So, who are these ex-bosses of yours? How ex are they?”

“That’s just it,” Gunn said, breaking into the conversation easily. “See, our cowboy here,” he ignored the slanted look Lindsey gave him, “was doing undercover work for us at Wolfram and Hart. Set it up to look like he’d double-crossed us.”

“Wolfram and Hart,” Giles said, musingly. “Why does that sound vaguely familiar?”

“They represent demons,” Fred said cheerily. “The bad ones.”

“They’ve been a thorn in our sides and vice versa, since we opened up business in Los Angeles,” Wesley said.

“Yeah.” Lindsey nodded. “Shady characters all of ‘em. Even me,” he admitted. “Before I saw the light and got out while the getting was good.” His expression clouded. “Lorne convinced me to be these guys’ eyes and ears in the firm.” He straightened his shoulders, almost as if he planned to go into battle. “I got a lot of dirt.”

“You know about the apocalypse?” Xander asked eagerly.

“I know about the vampires that got called in to do some dirty work for the senior partners,” Lindsey said.

“Ooh, got it, Buffy!” Willow flashed an excited grin up at her friend. “The title of the song is ‘Possum Kingdom’.” She frowned then shrugged. “It’s, uh, weird.”

“Weird?” Buffy leaned over so she could read the lyrics, her brow furrowing as she read them. “Will, can you print these up?”

“Sure,” Willow said.

“What’s it say?” Xander craned his head, trying to get a glimpse of the words. “Anything good?”

“Not exactly,” Buffy said, her voice trailing off. She waited as Willow printed up the lyrics and handed them out, sitting back on the corner of the desk and staring at them.

“I don’t get it,” Xander said, after looking over the words with Fred. She shook her head as well. “What is this? A stalker?”

“A warning,” Giles said softly, meeting Buffy’s eyes.

“Worse,” she said, setting her own copy of the lyrics aside. “I think it’s a challenge.”

“Huh, that’s odd,” Lindsey said, glancing up from the page.

“What?” Doyle asked, handing off his own copy of the lyrics to Kate, who scowled reading them.

“These lyrics. I mean, creepy, yeah, but it reminds me of that vampire and his girlfriend who showed up at Wolfram and Hart. They made me decide to get the hell out of Dodge.” He rattled the paper.

“And? Did this pair have any names?” Xander asked.

Lindsey nodded. “The female was little and dark, thin and crazy.”

“I know that one.” Buffy raised her hand, a self-mocking smile on her face. “That’s gotta be Drusilla.”

Lindsey cocked a finger at her as if he were a game show host giving her a point. “See if you can get this one, then,” he said. “Taller guy, dark eyes, long dark hair, more than a little on the sadistic side?”

Buffy shook her head, glancing at her friends who replied in the negative as well. “Dunno.”

“Damn, and I thought you were good.”

“Just tell us, man, stop playing twenty questions,” Giles snapped.

“Sure thing,” Lindsey said. “But he said he wasn’t giving his real name. And I’ll just bet he didn’t.”

“What name did he give?” Giles sounded like he was losing what little patience he had left.

“He told us to call him ‘Angel.’”


	6. Faces Reflected in Silver

"A-angel? Are you sure?" Giles ripped the glasses off his face but his voice seemed to come from far away.

Buffy gripped the corner of the desk tightly, feeling the wood cutting into her palm. A part of her mind said in glee, "He's here, he's here, he's here!" Another part fell into gibbering terror. Lindsey'd seen Angel with Dru. He'd described him as sadistic. She almost moaned in agony.

He wasn't her Angel. He was the demon who wore the face of her lover.

"Oh god oh god oh god," Buffy whispered. A hand reached out to cover hers and she clasped it tightly. Voices echoed in the background, Xander's and Giles' louder than the others and reverberating in her head.

He was here.

Angel was here and he was evil.

* * *

James looked up as Samael and Dru sauntered into the suite. Dru almost glowed in her joy, swinging in pretty circles, the hem of her dress swaying with her movements. Samael watched her, his dark eyes hooded and unreadable. "Did you have fun, baby?" he asked.

"All the lovely death, my star," Drusilla said, her fingers fluttering out at her side. She took Samael's hand in her own, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. "All for me."

"For you?" Darla glowered from where she sat on the couch.

Drusilla swept to the blonde, capturing Darla's face in her narrow-fingered hands. She pressed a kiss on the blonde's forehead. "For me," she said, backing away. "For the stars to witness and the moon to dance."

"You still don't make any sense," Darla said petulantly, folding her arms. Red marks gleamed on her pale skin about her shoulders and bite marks marred the column of her neck from her earlier time with Samael and Drusilla.

"Maybe not, but she's still my girl," Samael said, capturing Dru in his arms and swinging her around. She laughed in delight, lacing her arms around his neck and nipping at his collarbone.

Darla scowled in their direction then turned her attention to her frosted pink nails. "What did you do, my lord?"

Samael dropped Drusilla lightly on the floor, patting her on her bottom to send her away. He leaped into the chair across the couch, tossing his large feet up on the table. "We had fun," he said. Drusilla hummed behind him, toying with his long hair the way a kitten might a ball of yarn. "Didn't we, baby?"

"Ooh," Drusilla said, leaning forward to rub her cheek against his. Their eyes stared across the table at Darla, who dropped her gaze farther, then lifted it to meet theirs. Her back straightened but she couldn't hold her own against their master and glanced away. Her hands clenched into fists at the cavalier treatment. "So much fun." Her teeth gleamed nearly as brightly as her eyes. "We left the Slayer a message."

That jerked Darla's head up. "What kind of message?" she asked tightly.

"Just a little calling card," Samael said, taking Dru's narrow hand in his and playing with it. He dropped a kiss on her fingertips and she moaned in delight.

"That wasn't in the plans," Darla said, fairly spitting out the words.

Samael's eyebrow lifted. "What are you saying, Darla?" His dark eyes flickered with an unholy fire.

James carefully set his feet on the floor, ready to leap away should the master vampire decide to punish Darla. He didn't want to be caught up in that fight.

"What did you do?" She changed her question though her body didn't relax, still as tense as if she were human.

The corner of his mouth curled up and Samael said, "Tell her, baby."

Drusilla clapped her hands once and spun away from him. "I saw a naughty seer," she said, wagging a finger in front of her face as if scolding someone only she could see. "He helped the bad, bad Slayer. He would tell her all our plans, if only he had the chance." Her face became downcast and sorrowful. "He would ruin everything, with his words, with his sight. And we couldn't have that, we couldn't let that happen." Her smile came back, wicked, vicious, beautiful. James hungered after her at that moment, knowing Elizabeth would punish him for his lust, if Samael didn't destroy him first. Only Spike, the one she'd created, had access to her besides Samael.

"What did you do, love?" he asked, leaning forward, urging her to continue her story.

Giggling in that enchantingly mad way she had, Drusilla started prowling around the room, stalking her prey in her memory. "We slipped like the night, like the stars in the sky," she said, "creeping up to the place of music. And we found three little playmates keeping the seer entertained." She tossed her hair.

"Who else?" Darla asked, in an obvious snit for being left out of the attack.

"Does it matter?" Samael asked. At her look, he laughed, mocking her. "You really need to loosen up, Darla. Let it go. I didn't take you. I needed Dru for this." He held out his hand and Drusilla drifted to him, letting him wrap his arm around her narrow waist. She leaned into his embrace, her fingers threading through his hair. "Go on, baby," he said, "tell them what happened next."

"There was a yummy little boy, human, so fragile, and my dark star ate him down, gulp, gulp, gulp," Drusilla said, her throat moving as she made the sounds. Her face drew into a scowl. "And nasty demons, with tentacles." She lashed her arms around in description. "They stung us with their limbs. But we smashed them down." She kissed Samael's temple. "My dark star protected me. Then we hunted down the seer. He hid himself, but we found him out." Her fingers crept down Samael's arm and she sing-songed the next words. "We found him, in the dark, all alone." Her smile grew. "And we killed him and put his pretty pieces where they'll do the most good."

"Most good?" Darla couldn't contain herself any longer. "What's that supposed to mean? Please tell me you didn't do something foolish that would lead the Slayer to us."

Samael gave her a half smile as Dru's shoulders shook in remembered glee. "The seer's eyes can't see. They look in the mirror and nothing reflects back."

Darla started to her feet. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her hands on her hips. "Why do you want to taunt this Slayer? She isn't like any Slayer you've ever faced before. She sent me to Hell." Darla thumped her chest. "She killed me."

"You came back," Samael pointed out, his head cocked to one side.

Darla bared her teeth at him. "You don't know," she snarled, her voice low and throbbing like a wound. "She's a danger to us all." Flinging out her hand, she indicated each of them in the room and the rest of the absent pack. "She nearly killed Dru, if I don't matter." Her sneer flared at the brunette. Drusilla averted her eyes, pressing her face into Samael's hair.

"Make her stop, my star," she sobbed.

"Darla," Samael said, his voice warning.

"You've never faced her," Darla said, not relenting. "You don't know how she is."

Samael nodded, gathering Dru and pulling her into his lap. "You're right." Drusilla cuddled into his embrace, whimpering softly, rubbing her cheek against his chest. He looked up at Darla. "So, we'll find out more. We'll go to the source."

Darla clutched at the air, her throat moving. Suddenly she laughed breathlessly. "You're crazy," she said. "Going against the Slayer, taunting her. She'll stake you without giving it a second thought." She snapped her fingers at Samael

He listened to her tirade with a politely bored expression on his face. When Darla finally wound down, he said, "I didn't say anything about going against her." He stroked Drusilla's hair soothingly. "At least, not yet." He rubbed his chin over the top of the brunette's head. "Firstly, Darla, we talk to Spike."

Drusilla unfolded from his lap, petting his chest excitedly. "My Spike?"

"Your Spike, baby." Samael smiled at her enthusiasm as she bounced out of his arms, twirling in delight. "Dru and I are leaving for the Hellmouth at sunset." He tossed James a glance. "Anyone who wants to come along can."

James rose from the sofa. "I'm your man, boss," he said. "Elizabeth will come, too."

"I'm sure Penn won't want to miss out on the fun," Samael said, his eyes on the still-spinning Drusilla. "He likes a spot of violence as I remember."

"Ooh." Drusilla paused, swaying in place as elegantly as a willow tree. "I'm a little dizzy." She laughed, pressing a hand to her head as Darla snorted, rolling her eyes. The brunette ignored her elder. "My Spike will know all the nasty Slayer's weaknesses," she said.

Samael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together loosely. "I'm counting on that, baby." He met Darla's gaze and gave her a sweet, deadly smile. "For Spike to know all her dirty little secrets."

* * *

The Magic Box was busy with customers. It seemed that as soon as one left, another appeared to take the first one's place. Dawn couldn't believe it. She wasn't sure if there was a sudden run on New Age stuff or whether everyone decided this morning that they wanted to be a Wicca. She'd never seen so many people in the store and not be part of the Scooby gang, ever.

"Dawn?" Jenny popped up next to her, her eyes tired but pleased. She stroked a strand of dark hair off her face and glanced around the shop. "Would you mind going to the basement and getting another jar of chicken feet, a packet of mandrake root and some lycanthrope hair? We're running low up here."

"'Kay," Dawn said, accepting the key to the basement. She had to excuse herself past a pair of women whose clothes of black and silver all but screamed "Look at me, I'm a Goth-Witch!" to move before Dawn could unlock the door. She darted inside, turning on the light from the top of the stairs before closing the door behind her and started down the steps.

It was always a little creepy in the basement. Dawn didn't really like going down there by herself. The light, while bright, managed to cast spooky shadows on the walls. Plus, there were some icky things down there, bones and real live dead stuffed animals and what was left of the Buffy-Bot. The skull of a wolf leered at her and the curly horns of something she was sure wasn't a cow hung on a string from the corner of one of the shelves. Jars and boxes and crates of any size and description took up so much space as to nearly be a fire hazard but everything was in alphabetical order. Dawn decided it was a good thing Giles was a librarian in his former life, 'cause there would've been no other way to find the things Jenny asked for.

Something rattled and crashed.

Dawn froze on the stairs, feeling her heart slamming into her chest as if the organ might rip a hole in her sternum and flee. She swallowed hard, wishing suddenly for Buffy or a baseball bat, not necessarily in that order. Dawn choked down a nervous giggle at the image-umpire Slayer-she'd have to tell Xander that one and wondered how her mind could make puns when she wasn't sure if she was going to live another three seconds?

"Bloody hell."

Taking a deep, needed breath, Dawn let it all out in a long sigh. Spike. Who else? She dropped down the last few steps and followed the maze of stuff Giles and Jenny had tucked into the basement.

Spike was around the corner of one of the freestanding shelves, hastily shoving something back into a chest. Dawn cleared her throat, folding her arms sternly. Spike winced as he turned to face her, a baggy of something quickly slipped into his pocket. "It's you," he said, relaxing. "What're you doing here? You gave me a fright. Thought you might be Rupert or his old lady."

She tried to keep her mouth firm but it kept wanting to twist into a grin. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Dawn tossed her hair back importantly. "I have permission to be here."

The vampire scoffed. "Are you saying I don't?"

"Let's see." Dawn ticked off her fingers as she spoke. "You tried to hide whatever it is you're stealing. One. You're stealing. Two. You obviously didn't come in through the store because, hello, daylight? Three."

Spike interrupted before she could go on. "Stealing? You think I'm stealing? Oh, why don't you wound me to the quick, then? Stealing. Huh."

"You expect me to believe you're going to pay Giles for whatever's in your pocket," Dawn said.

"Hey, I earned this." Spike fumbled out a cigarette and popped it into his mouth. He started to light it then shoved the lighter back where he'd found it, noticing Dawn's glare.

"How?" She rocked back on her heels, scowling at the blond vampire. God, he so hot. If Buffy had to have a crush on a vampire, why couldn't he be Spike? He was funny and smart and so totally in love with her sister. Why didn't Buffy see it?

"How?" Spike repeated as Dawn took mental inventory of his good points. He stabbed his unlit cigarette at her. "I'll tell you how. Followin' your sis around, makin' sure she don't get killed. Again. Protectin' your Scoobies when your sis was...gone." Something flashed across his narrow face, too fast for Dawn to recognize. "Keepin' you safe." He tucked the cigarette back in his mouth, his dark eyebrows lowering into a scowl. "That's how."

But, oh, Riley. Fiancé. And human. Sure, Spike was cuter than Riley and had that advantage of being hard to kill-unless, of course, he got hit with a stake in the right place, or was set on fire or decapitated. But other than that, he was practically indestructible. Dawn realized Spike was staring at her expectantly. "Oh, all right. I won't tell." She shooed him along. "Just don't let me catch you down here again."

Spike huffed in reply, taking two steps further into the basement then hesitating. He cocked his head towards the ceiling. "So, your sis, she up there?" His eyes lifted, as if she couldn't get the meaning.

"Pfft." Dawn waved her hands. "No. She's in L.A. again. There's some sort of new prophecy or something. Her old Watcher, well, you never met Wesley, did you? He has a friend who's a seer. And he saw something that Wesley thought Buffy needed to know. Why he couldn't just tell her over the phone," she shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes expressively. Grown-ups were beyond her most days. "Willow, Xander and Giles went with her."

"Not Riley, then?"

"Oh, please." Dawn leaned her shoulder against the shelf Spike had been robbing. "After that blow-up last night? He'll have to grovel to get back in Buffy's good graces."

"Sorry to hear that," Spike said, sounding anything but. He reached out and ruffled her hair over her protests. "Gotta get going, chick. See you later."

She smoothed her hair frantically. "Yeah, sure, unless I see you first. Wait!"

Spike paused, giving her a 'now what?' look.

"Where are you going?"

"There're tunnels all over this city," he said. "They open up into some interesting places." Spinning on his heel, he disappeared.

"Fine," Dawn sulked, hiding that bit of information away in her head. She wondered if Buffy knew Spike had an all-access pass into the Magic Box. Maybe she'd tell her. It wasn't like Spike could do any harm, after all, well, aside from stealing stuff from Giles and Jenny. But what he'd taken didn't look too important.

Shrugging, Dawn turned her attention to the shelves, making a face at the vast quantities of magical supplies. "Mandrake root. Here, mandrake root."

* * *

"Is she going to be all right?" Kate asked, throwing a glance at the tiny blonde, slumped on the stairs with the redheaded girl and the boy next to her. Fred hovered just outside of their sphere, her desire to help warring with her complete lack of knowledge of what she should do.

"I-I think she'll be fine," Giles said, polishing his glasses. He only hoped it were true. He had never expected the vampire to be real, just some fantasy that had happened on Buffy's original world. The fact that this McDonald fellow had met Buffy's vampire and that he was obviously part of Drusilla's faction made for a disconcerting feeling, even on his part. He could only surmise what Buffy felt.

"Perhaps we should withdraw, let them have some space," Wesley said tentatively. His expression was concerned and Giles realized suddenly that his one-time adversary no longer wore glasses. It wasn't the time or place to question it, just something he felt he should've realized earlier.

"Where can we go?" Doyle asked. "I mean, Wes, there's not a lotta time left here. Lindsey's said that the appearance of that vampire made Wolfram and Hart's day, if not their millennium." His hands moved almost independently of his body, punctuating his words and emphasizing his distress. "And what about Lorne?"

Wesley sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I think...Lorne would understand, Doyle. Right now, we do need to try to interpret your vision."

The Irishman's face paled and his sharp blue eyes widened. "Oh, god."

"That is what we came here to do," Giles reminded, forcing his tone to remain civil when he really wanted to beat something to a bloody pulp. He hated feeling useless and Buffy's pain made him want to hit something. Many, many times. Preferably the vampire who put her in this state.

Gunn appeared from the kitchen area, carrying a tray. "Hey, I got coffee. I know it's nothin' like chocolate, I know how you girls feel about your chocolate, but it's something, you know?" He offered the tray to Buffy, who smiled wanly and took a cup.

"Thanks." Her voice sounded reedy and strained but at least it was a reaction.

Gunn gave her a smile as Xander and Willow each took a cup. "Hey, Fred, I forgot the cream and sugar. You wanna go get those things?"

"Cream?" Fred's eyes lit up with the chance to help. "I can do that, Gunn." She scuttled off to the kitchen as Gunn turned to the knot of Bretons.

"I know it's not your favorite but I ain't making tea," he said.

"Thank you, Charles, this is...appreciated," Wesley said, accepting a cup.

"Gotta do what you can, man." Gunn nodded as Kate and Lindsey shuffled over to take two more of the cups. "Everybody, drink up. I started another whole pot in there."

Buffy sank in on herself, the mug warming her cold fingers. Her best friends flanked her; Willow's shoulder pressed into hers companionably while Xander rubbed her back. Neither of them said anything, they just let her absorb the scent of the coffee, their body heat, their companionship, the knowledge that Angel was here, here, here. She swallowed the scream that wanted to burst out of her throat. He was evil again, he wasn't her Angel and she knew, could feel it shimmering in the air around her, that she'd have to face him again. That she'd have to kill him again.

She remembered what she'd told Giles; when he'd said he would do the thing that she couldn't do, namely, kill Dawn. She'd remembered what it was like to kill Angel, when she'd loved him so much. She'd told Giles that if Dawn died, she was quitting.

Suddenly, that feeling swarmed over her again. She kept living through the same stupid cycle, having to kill someone she loved to save the world. She was the one who had to make all the impossible decisions. The thought flitted through that it wasn't her world, not really, that if it went away, she could finally have her peace.

Willow's hand snaked up and took hers, squeezing it gently. Xander rubbed her shoulders. Giles studied her as unobtrusively as he could, his blue eyes worried and concerned and all sorts of other emotions she couldn't name right now. Buffy sighed. She had to fight. She had to do it, again. Saving the world was her gig, hers and hers alone. If she died this time, she'd make Will promise to not bring her back. Of course, if she died this time, there was a good chance that Willow wouldn't be able to bring her back because she'd be dead, too.

Leaning her head on Willow's shoulder, she closed her eyes. She breathed in the familiar scent of her best friend, her hand-mixed perfume of patchouli and something indefinable and so perfectly Willow. Her Willow had been Buffy's anchor when Angel broke up with her and had encouraged her to date Riley. This Willow took care of Dawn when she was dead. She loved, unstintingly, unhesitatingly, with all her heart. Buffy suddenly had a desire to see Willow holding a baby. Oz's baby. Their baby. She'd make such a good mother. And Dawn, Dawn needed a chance to go on, to live, to grow, to be that famous artist or writer or celebrity that she deserved to be. And Xander and Cordelia, she needed to give them a chance to do something great together, since they didn't get to back on her world. And Giles. Buffy opened her eyes to meet his across the room. This Giles had everything her Giles had ever wanted, Jenny and his family gathered around him. She couldn't disappoint him; she couldn't take away the gifts he had, even if doing her duty again made her die that much more inside.

Buffy gave Giles a tiny smile. His eyes brightened at the gesture and he nodded almost imperceptibly. He clapped his hands together, saying something she knew had to be a "Right, then" and urged the strangers farther away, letting her bask in her friends' company. Giving her a shelter in this storm. She squeezed Willow's hand and sat up abruptly, leaning back to give Xander a peck on the cheek. Before he could exclaim, she bounded off the stairs. "All right," she said, forcing all her emotions into some corner of her heart and boarding them up like an empty house, "what's the what?"

Sipping at his mug, Doyle raised his hand, waving it at her. "I had a vision."

"Think I've heard that part," Buffy said, cocking her head and folding her arms. "A little more on the four-one-one would be helpful."

Doyle set his mug down and scratched at his head. "I can't really explain it m'self, princess," he said. "I think I need some help."

"Help?" Willow joined her friend.

"What kind of help?" Xander asked. He spread his hands. "I mean, sorry, man, but the last help we went to get got a little dead."

Doyle nodded grimly. "The help I'm thinkin' of ain't dead. I'm not even sure they're alive." His sharp blue eyes searched Buffy's. "You game, Slayer?"

Buffy tossed her head, giving him a tight smile. "I'm game."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help?" Dawn asked, standing at the door, practically out of it already.

Jenny wriggled her fingers at her. "You've done plenty already, Dawn. Besides, Oz is waiting."

Dawn smiled and waved back. "Thanks, Jenny." She scooted the rest of the way out and leaped into the waiting van. Oz closed the door and sauntered around the front of it, climbing in.

Jenny shook her head, watching as Oz piloted the vehicle out into what little traffic constituted a Saturday afternoon in Sunnydale. She was often surprised at the lack of drivers. Even kids with cars drove little, preferring to walk through the town most of the time. When she first arrived, she thought they all had death wishes. It seemed to her that the entire population had blinders on. She knew Sunnydale was a Hellmouth. She'd known that before she moved here but how often were teachers fresh out of college hired at the salary she was offered? But it always amazed her, the amount of walking the kids did after dark how few of them seemed to turn up dead.

She knew that mostly had to do with Buffy. With a Slayer on duty, things remained at least at an even keel. Not everything turned out for the best, people did still die, vampires still roamed through the town, demons did walk the night. But at least the humans had a fighting chance.

Walking to the door, Jenny opened it, looking in both directions. She glanced up, into the southern California sky. No clouds lingered in any direction, just a wash of brilliant blue. She didn't envy Giles in Los Angeles, even though he'd only be gone the day. She would never miss the smog of the big city, even if the best clothes were two hours away, to quote Cordelia. Thoughtfully, Jenny stepped back into the store, turning the "open" sign to "closed". She locked the door and walked away from it, heading for the office and the telephone there. She didn't want any distractions when she made this call.

Picking up the receiver with suddenly cold hands, Jenny fished a piece of paper from the pocket of her vest. She read the numbers and dialed them slowly, counting the rings until the click sounded, alerting her that the connection was made.

"Hello?" a gruff, heavily accented voice asked.

"Uncle Enyos? It's Janna," Jenny said, sitting in the chair behind the desk.

"I have been waiting for you to call," the man said.

"I know, Uncle. I'm sorry. But things have been...very strange here." Jenny twined the telephone cord around her fingers.

His interest piqued, Enyos asked, "How strange?"

"I have seen the first portent, Uncle." She glanced towards the door, thinking she heard something. "Remember what the wise woman said, so long ago?"

His breath escaped him in a long, slow hiss. "The dead woman, she walks?"

"Yes, Uncle." Jenny nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "She walks. She is no vampire, she lives."

"Ahhh," Enyos said. "You understand what this means?"

Jenny squeezed her eyes shut. "I do."

"The end of the world, Janna." He sighed. "I had hoped...but the wise woman was never wrong. Thank you for calling to let me know, Janna. I shall spread the word."

"Wait, Uncle, please. I need more."

"More?" She could almost picture Enyos scowling. "What more could you need?" Jenny was relieved he didn't hang up before she had a chance to ask. "Uncle, are there any more warnings? The woman, she is the Slayer, the vampire Slayer. She is the one who has risen from the grave through magic. She wants to be prepared."

"Prepared? Prepared for what?" Jenny could hear her uncle leaning forward in his chair, the fabric squeaking under his weight.

"She is brave, Uncle, this Slayer. She has faced the end of the world before and she has won." Jenny licked her lips. "She wants to stop it."

"There is no stopping the prophecies," Enyos scoffed. "All will come to pass. The child born of nothing, the man from the past. All will play their parts and finally, the world shall end."

The child born of nothing and the man from the past? Jenny gripped the receiver tighter in her hand. "Uncle Enyos," she said sharply. "This Slayer wants to fight. I say we give her the ability to do so. We give her all the prophecies." She paused, thinking her words carefully before she spoke again. "We give her a chance."

Enyos laughed shortly. "She will lose this battle, Janna. It has been predestined since any of our births."

"Perhaps," Jenny said. "Perhaps not. The prophecies said that she would return different. She is, Uncle. It wasn't just her death that changed her. She is a different person. The same...but different."

"Different, same, the prophecies do not lie, Janna," Enyos said dismissively.

"Wait, Uncle, please. I know they do not lie but...don't they often have more than one meaning? If the Slayer has the ability to avert the forthcoming disaster and we do not help her, how will it look on us, on our race?"

There was a long pause as Enyos digested this question. Jenny bit her tongue to keep from speaking again, knowing he would have to make the decision. He was closest to clan leader of her line; he would be the one to speak to the clan to request that the Slayer be presented with their knowledge. She crossed her fingers and touched the wooden desk top for luck.

"I will speak to the clan," Enyos came back finally.

"Soon, Uncle?" Jenny asked, managing to keep her exultation out of her voice.

He sighed reluctantly. "These things take time, Janna. You understand that."

"I understand, Uncle Enyos but I know that the end approaches faster than that."

"I shall make haste," Enyos said. "Good bye, Janna." The connection was broken before she could reply. Jenny slumped in the chair, drained by the conversation. A part of her wanted to gloat. Buffy would have the information she needed and maybe, with luck, they could avert the apocalypse.

If they had the time.

Jenny rose to her feet, smoothing the front of her skirts. At least she had two more pieces of the puzzle. While she was waiting for Rupert and the others to return home, maybe she could look up the child born of nothing and the man from the past. With luck, she'd be able to figure out what part they played in the upcoming battle.

She hesitated, looking back at the telephone. What if her uncle meant Dawn? No, she shook her head, Dawn was born of power. There had to be another child. Jenny walked out of the office and surveyed the off-limits section of the store. "Somehow, I think my day just got a lot more interesting," she said and started up the stairs to the research books.

* * *

Lilah Morgan wished she were young enough to stomp her foot in agitation. She'd driven by Lindsey's apartment. He hadn't been there. In fact, the doorman told him that Lindsey hadn't been back there for nearly a week. Lilah knew where Darla had been during that time. It was part of her job to keep an eye on the blonde vampire. Lindsey and Darla hadn't crossed paths in that time period or she would've known about it. But somehow, her partner had managed to slip the leash she'd thought was firmly around his neck. She wasn't sure how it happened; only that he was gone.

Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel of her sleek BMW, Lilah thought about her next action. Holland would want to take care of Lindsey before he became a liability to Wolfram and Hart. Unfortunately, Lilah knew that if Lindsey had disappeared, it was probably too late. He'd nearly defected once before, only to get swept back up into the Wolfram and Hart family. Now, Lilah wondered if that move hadn't been planned on Lindsey's part. She wouldn't have guessed the shitkicker would have the balls to be a double agent for Wyndham-Price and his white hats but she knew in her bones that it had to be true. There was no one else in town that Lindsey trusted. Well, no one except for that stupid karaoke-singing demon and word was already out that he'd died in an incredibly spectacular way. She grinned, wishing she'd had a chance to watch that particular death. The host of Caritas was not one of her favorite people in town. She wouldn't be surprised that he had been passing on information from Lindsey to Wyndham-Price. It was a shame she wouldn't be able to prove that. It would make the hunt for Lindsey that more intense.

The cell phone played the opening strains of some Mozart symphony. Lilah grimaced. One of these days, she'd have to get that changed. It was so damned cheery. Picking up the phone, she hit the talk button. "Lilah Morgan, how may I help you?" she asked, edging her car out into traffic.

"Lilah," Holland said. "I've been looking for you."

"I'm sorry, Holland, I had a few errands to run," she said smoothly. "I was trying to locate Lindsey and found out he hasn't been seen at his apartment complex for the past week."

Holland grunted in surprise at the other end of the connection. "Is that so?" He paused. "And I thought our boy was in this for the long haul. Guess it shows what sort of judge of character I am."

"I was going to swing by the Hyperion Hotel and see if I could spot that orange truck of his, Holland," Lilah said. "I figured you might want to know where he is."

"Oh, no matter," Holland said dismissively. "If Lindsey has defected to Wyndham-Price's side, we know that's where he'll go. No, I have a more important job for you."

"A more important job, Holland?" Lilah asked.

"Yes. I just got word that the Slayer is back in town. She also seems to be a friend of Wyndham-Price's."

"It's a small world after all, eh, Holland?"

He chuckled at her little joke. "It certainly seems that way, Lilah." He paused. "Perhaps you should take a run by Wyndham-Price Investigations. Size up the competition. I'm sure our friends here at the office would appreciate anything you could tell them."

"On my way, Holland," Lilah said, smiling. She turned her BMW back towards the Hyperion Hotel. Besides, she thought to herself, she had to say goodbye to Lindsey. It wasn't like she'd have a chance to do it later.

* * *

Buffy stared around herself in disbelief. "Okay," she said, "so not getting this."

Doyle paused. "What's to get, Slayer? You talk to the Oracles, they give you the word, you get out, we go home."

She folded her arms. "How come you can't talk to the Oracles?"

Doyle shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm not a warrior. I'm a messenger. They don't speak to the likes of me." He gestured at an urn, sitting near an archway. "I'll do the invocation for you, princess, but it's up to you to talk to 'em."

Buffy made a face, looking at the archway dubiously. "Are you sure this is the place?"

"Oh, I'm sure." Doyle fished in his pockets, pulling out what looked to Buffy like a bunch of weeds. He tossed them into the urn. "You ready?"

"I guess," Buffy said. "I mean, what am I going to get out of this?" She grabbed his hand before he ignited the weeds. "Willow said the Oracles are really good with riddles. Can't you just tell me what you saw and we'll go from that?"

Doyle sighed. "Look, Slayer," he said then, at her glare, "Buffy. I'll tell you what I saw. I saw big death. A lot of it. I saw end of the world things. And I saw you, fightin' with the likes o' demon I've never seen. That's all I got." He swept his arms out. "Now I know you ain't the Buffy from this world. Wes told us all that. But you're the only Slayer we got and I gotta get this message to someone." He smiled sadly. "Tag, princess, you're it."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Can you cut with the dramatics for a minute and just explain without out all the doom and gloom? God, and I thought Giles was bad. Come on, Doyle. Get on with it already," she said. "I mean, okay, I fight big bad demons. Ooo. Let's check: what does Buffy do with her life on a regular basis? Stop apocalypses? Been there, done that. Tell me something I don't know or stop wasting my time."

Doyle grabbed her upper arms. "You don't get it, do you? The whole world is at stake."

"No." Buffy brushed him off gently. "You don't get it. I've been through this before. Not this exact thing, but I can't remember how many end of the world scenarios I've stopped. As in, they haven't happened. As in, the rest of the world gets on with its life. What do you think a Slayer does, but put herself on the front line against the vampires and demons?

"Do you think I can't make hard choices? Is that it? Let me tell you about hard choices. I had to kill the man I loved to keep my world from being sucked into Hell. I had to jump into a gateway that my sister's blood opened to keep the dimensions from unraveling. I had to decide to live in a world that isn't really mine because I was brought back here by mistake. Do you think I wanted to know that my friends and family, the ones in the other world are dead and that they died because I didn't get back there?" The images swam in Buffy's head, the ones she'd imagined, listening to Lorne's reading of her. "My Giles went to England after I jumped, leaving my friends alone. Maybe, if he'd been there...but he wasn't. The Watchers' Council put up a fight but it wasn't enough. He was killed in the first attack. Xander was protecting Willow when she tried to raise me. A demon murdered him; a motorcycle-riding demon swung a chain and broke Xander's neck. Willow took Dawn and ran to Los Angeles and Anya and Tara just...vanished." Buffy wiped at her eyes, realizing she was crying. "Spike followed them. He and Angel," she took a deep, shaky breath, "they broke Faith out of jail...they knew the end was coming. They all did. And they fought and they all died because I wasn't there."

She wanted to hit something. She wanted to howl. "I wasn't there, Doyle and my friends died. I saw it, like a vision. I saw Dawn fall under a demon and I saw Faith go down fighting and Willow, god, I saw Willow die." She squeezed her eyes shut but the pictures kept coming, like a movie in her head. "I saw Angel...he was the last one and he couldn't go on, he said without me, without the others, there wasn't any reason for him to live. He staked himself," she could barely understand her own voice, "because I wasn't there."

Doyle stared at the distraught Slayer as she sank to the dusty flooring, her arms wrapped around herself. She shook like a glass window next to a train track; her teeth chattering so hard the sound reverberated off the tunnel walls. Lorne's words floated back to him in memory, that he pitied the girl. "Oh, god," Doyle groaned, "Wes'll never forgive me if I broke the Slayer."

* * *

"So how long have they been gone, again?" Gunn asked, pacing around the lobby of the hotel.

Fred, the only one paying any attention, cocked her head to one side and shoved her ugly plastic glasses up on her nose. "One hour and thirty-two minutes, four seconds." She smiled, then frowned just as quickly. "But I didn't allow for travel time."

"Buffy and Doyle will be fine," Wesley said, sounding more than a little distracted as he looked over whatever scuzzy piece of leather he and Giles had in front of them. They reminded Gunn of that episode of 'The Simpsons' where Bart and his friends buy issue one of 'Radioactive Man', carefully studying, turning it into different lights, pointing out things to each other without really touching it. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, moving past them and Lindsey and Kate, talking in low tones. The pair were discussing guns. Somehow, it didn't surprise Gunn, at least the pair had something in common. He headed towards the Slayer's friends, perched on the stair steps.

The girl was really cute, with that spill of red hair curling a little down her back. The guy seemed a little soft to Gunn's eyes and neither of them looked like the fighters Wes had talked about. They were lost in some world of their own, tossing phrases at each other and sometimes laughing. He edged up on them, listening in.

"'Ah'm yore huckleberry,'" Xander said, complete with bad Southern accent.

"Easy," Willow said with a snort. "Doc Holliday, 'Tombstone.'" Her brow furrowed and she said, "'Aim for the cat! Aim for the cat!'"

"Evil Ted, 'Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey,'" Xander said. He noticed Willow's attention drift beyond him and turned. "Oh, hey. Gunn, right?"

"Right." Gunn leaned on the railing of the staircase. He gestured. "I see you're good with the computer," he said to Willow.

She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. "Yeah, I guess," she said, shrugging.

"And you?" He turned his attention to Xander. "What do you contribute?"

Xander grinned broadly but not nicely, tapping his fingers on his knees. "Mostly snacks. And I've managed to stake a few vampires."

"Oh, and you help with research," Willow said, nodding so that her hair slithered around her face. "And, and you were the one who helped find me that Urn of Osiris on eBay."

Gunn folded his arms. "So, you're backup," he said.

"Hey, we're not backup," Xander said, getting to his feet. "We're front line. How long have you been in this?"

Gunn said, "Pretty much since Alonna and I got kicked out onto the streets."

"Six years," Xander said, his hand waving between himself and Willow. His smile bright and fake, he went on. "Go on. Ask us anything."

"Okay," Gunn said, "best way to destroy a vampire."

"Sunlight, stakes, crosses," Xander said. "Fire will do. Beheading. Holy water."

Gunn nodded once. "How do you deal with werewolves?"

"Silver bullets," Willow said, "or enough drugs to drop an elephant. They're pretty territorial, though, they don't like a lot of competition. And," she said, "with proper training, they're about as dangerous as a big dog."

He gave her a look of disbelief. "Ain't no werewolf can be tamed."

Willow smiled smugly. "My boyfriend's a werewolf."

"He is," Xander said, nodding in agreement. "Been one for the past five years. During full moons, he's a helluva fighter."

"The rest of the time, he's a helluva researcher," Willow said, with more than a hint of pride in her voice.

Gunn blinked. "Your boyfriend is a werewolf."

"Ye-up." Willow enunciated carefully, popping the 'p'.

He turned to Xander, trying to digest this cute little girl with a werewolf. "Her boyfriend is a werewolf?"

Xander nodded cheerfully. "Haven't found a cure for it yet."

"And you're a witch?"

"Well, you know, lycanthropes and witches have been linked historically for a long time." Willow entwined her fingers, her fine eyebrows lifting. "Still think we're wannabes?"

"No, I think you got our little gang beat. We don't throw no magic or have any werewolves." He glanced back at his friends and co-workers. "We do got a genius."

"Got one of those, too," Xander said, reaching over to clasp Willow's shoulders.

"Don't forget Oz," she protested.

"Can't. You won't let me."

Gunn was starting to feel a little out of his league. "I think I'll just retreat to my corner," he said, "before you tell me you're the next Jackie Chan."

"Well," Xander drawled.

"Stop it," Willow said, shoving at him.

"Stopping…now." Xander leaned back onto the steps, tapping his fingers on the old carpet. A frown settled slowly into place. "Man, are they ever gonna get back here?"

Willow pursed her lips. "They'll be back soon, I mean, how long can it take, going to see Oracles?" She twisted around on the steps. "Giles? How long would that take?"

He shook his head, coming back from whatever geek world he and Wes currently inhabited. "Pardon?"

"Buffy. How long would she be at the Oracles?"

"Oh." Giles took off his glasses and began polishing them absently. "Em, that depends," he said carefully. "Did-did she remember to take an offering?"

"She's supposed to take an offering?" Xander pushed off the stairs. "No one said anything about any offerings, Giles."

"Oh." He started to put his glasses back on and hesitated. "Well, she's a clever girl, I'm sure she'll think of something."

Xander unconsciously followed Gunn's path around the lobby. "It's starting to get dark outside," he said softly, staring at the glass doors. He headed for the telephone. "I'd better call Cordy before she starts worrying."

The door flung open, a woman stepping through it. Her high heels clicked on the marble floor and she tossed her head back, her short, dark honey hair swirled around her shoulders. A predatory smile graced her lips. "Well, well, well. Lindsey. Somehow, I expected to find you here." An eyebrow raised. "Maybe not dressed that way. What is that, camouflage?"

Lindsey straightened, tugging at the cuffs of his plaid shirt. "Lilah. I'd say it's good to see you but we'd both know it was a lie."

She paused above the steps leading down into the lobby proper, folding her arms and surveying them all. Her scarlet nails drummed impatiently, once, twice, then she stepped farther into the hotel. "You'll probably be happier to know that I'm not here for you," she said.

"Is that a fact?" Lindsey drawled. "Why do I doubt you, Lilah?"

"Oh, it's true. I'm trolling for bigger fish." She strolled closer. "I want to find out if all the rumors being spread about L.A. are true." Her head turned, tracking the people in the room, smiling at them as they all straightened, Wesley setting aside that thing he and Giles had been looking at, Fred smiling brightly back, Kate casually shifting so she could get to her gun, kept behind the lobby desk. Lindsey sauntered from behind the lobby's counter. Xander took a step closer to Willow.

"What rumors are those?" Wesley asked as Gunn edged closer to the weapons cabinet.

"Rumors you've been keeping company with a Slayer, Wes." Lilah's voice was warm and somehow brittle at the same time. "You didn't think that would fail to attract our attention, do you?"

"What concern of it is yours?" Giles asked sharply, removing his glasses. Gunn wondered if he actually needed them to see or if they were a prop. He had the feeling that the Englishman hid a lot of things behind that stiff upper lip crap.

"I work for a company that has certain…vested interests in this town," Lilah said. "Let me guess. You would be the Watcher."

"And if I am?"

"We've heard about you," she said, her blood-red mouth turning acquisitory. "About the work you do." She sailed closer to him. "You were quite the hellraiser in your day." Lilah tilted her head. "Now you raise the dead. That's a lot of power to harness." She paused; her legs spread slightly, arms folded again. Fighting stance. "Something that could be very useful to us."

Lilah's voice rang through the quiet of the lobby, the reverberations finally dying out. Giles didn't really seem to be paying much attention to her speech, spinning his glasses with one hand, the other shoved into his pocket, his chin tucked into his chest. Xander, who Gunn would've guessed couldn't tolerate silence, watched with the same casual intensity Gunn had seen at pick-up games, where you studied your opponents before entering the game.

The older man lifted his head suddenly, a flash of something completely unlike a smile slithering across his face. "Get out," he said, his voice light, almost pleasant.

"All right, I've got your answer." Lilah turned her attention towards the redhead. "You. You're the witch. You were a party to raising the Slayer from the dead, weren't you?" Her tone lowered, insinuating, caressing. "What is it like, to have that sort of ability? Don't you want to taste it again? Let it carry you away?"

Her mouth dropped open and a little squeak escaped before she exchanged a glance with Xander. Willow's little chin raised and her arms crossed firmly over her chest. "You heard him," she said, "get out."

"You still don't understand what I'm offering," Lilah said, starting her slow, long stalk again, circling the circumference of the lobby, her heels ticking like a counter on a bomb. "There is a battle coming, a very special battle." She paused at the countertop, running a finger over it and inspecting for dust, then continuing. Fred scurried out of her way with a frantic, "Eep!" "Cataclysmic. The end of the world. But you, all of you, you have the chance to come out on top of that. Your nearest and dearest, as well. All you have to do is step aside and let the end happen."

Wesley stepped into her path, unconsciously taking up her previous pose, legs spread, arms folded. "What gives you the power to make that sort of deal, Lilah?" he asked.

"She's Holland's right hand," Lindsey said. "And she wants the glory of bringing you in."

"Ah." The exhalation was gentle; though the knife blade grin that creased Wesley's face was anything but. "Get out, before I call the police and have you hauled away for trespassing."

"You think you could make it stick?" Lilah asked, amused.

"I may not be a cop anymore," Kate said, leaning jauntily on the counter, with Fred peeping out from behind her, "but I sure have my contacts." She moved, suddenly, swiftly, forcing herself into Lilah's space. "And I know some people on the force who would dearly love to put you away for a while." She ran her gaze down Lilah's form and up again, a deliberate threat. Kate whispered, though her words carried to the others, "I know just how tough you think you are. You'd never last a night in lockdown."

The attorney smiled archly. "If you're trying to frighten me, you have to do much, much worse than that." Spinning on her three-inch heels, she sauntered towards the door. Lilah stopped just inside of it, a hand on the grip. "Last chance," she said.

"Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," Gunn said, wriggling his fingers at her.


	7. To the Other Side

Doyle looked up as the archway flared, Buffy flying out of the light and rolling across the flooring. He darted over to the Slayer, not quite touching her. He wasn’t sure if she’d put up with that sort of thing from a virtual stranger. To his surprise, the girl slowly sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and leaning her cheek against them. “Slayer?” he asked, then more tentatively, “Buffy? Did anything happen? You weren’t gone more than that.” He snapped his fingers in example.

Her sigh was deep and tired. “I saw the Oracles.” She sat still for a few seconds longer then raised her head. Her face was ravaged; her hair, so neat when she’d leaped into the portal just a few seconds earlier, mussed. She stared right through him to something else entirely and when she spoke, her voice seemed to come from far away. “Did you ever think that things just couldn’t get any worse and then, hello, they do?”

“All the time, princess.” Doyle squatted next to her, his elbows resting on his knees. “When first I got these visions. They’re like a giant nutcracker on your skull.” He tapped the side of his head and gave the girl an engaging grin. “I mean, fighting on the side of good, that’s all right, but I wish I didn’t have to deal with the migraines all the time.”

Her smile was weak and not at all convincing. Still, she tried and Doyle gave her points for that. “Did you find out anything?”

Buffy rolled her head, her neck popping. “I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I mean, they told me some stuff but….” Her voice trailed off and she raised a hand, only to let it drop again. “I don’t know how much it’ll help.”

“What did they say?” Doyle edged forward eagerly.

“A lot of things.” Buffy sighed, running her hands over her hair. Making a decision, she flowed to her feet. “I need to go home,” she said, sounding even more tired. She stood still, swaying slightly, her chin resting on her chest, contemplating, what? The ground? Then her shoulders lifted and her head came up and she focused her attention Doyle. “How do we get back to that hotel?”

* * * Jenny Giles walked swiftly through the corridors of the hospital, following the terse directions she’d received over the telephone from Oz. The colored lines on the floor reminded her of electrical wires, all pulling energy along them. Unfortunately, energy in hospitals was strange, at best. The dying had their own pull, the living felt completely different. And she truly, explicitly, hated hospitals. The dead within the walls of the building needed guidance and always tugged at her the instant she walked through those doors. She’d hated it when Buffy’s mother was here nearly as much as the Slayer had, not just because she might lose her friend but also because of the ghosts.

As she strode along, she wondered what might have happened to Riley. Oz had only said it was bad, typical of the taciturn young man. She had heard Dawn crying in the background. Jenny wondered if either of them had made any attempt to contact Buffy. She’d called the number Rupert had left her before driving here. Her husband was shocked to hear the word and insisted that she keep him posted. He also said that Buffy was busy, trying to get more information about the upcoming apocalypse. He had promised that they would be back in Sunnydale as soon as possible and rang off, probably to share the disturbing news with Xander and Willow.

Jenny followed the dark blue line that led her to Surgical Intensive Care Unit. As she walked into the waiting room, she took in the serious expressions of the people waiting in dark blue chairs against the walls. At first she didn’t see Oz or Dawn and her breath snarled in her throat, nearly choking her. A vision of telling Buffy and Willow about the loss of their loved ones flared through her mind and she shook her head hard to clear it. Swallowing a deep breath, Jenny paused near the nurse’s desk and looked more carefully around the room. This time she spotted Oz’s orange hair with the pale yellow spikes and Dawn, sitting next to him, her head bowed and her hands hanging between her knees.

She made her way towards them, Oz rising to his feet and tapping Dawn’s shoulder as she approached. Dawn flung herself from her seat and into Jenny, nearly knocking the slight woman over. She caught the girl and smoothed her hair, looking over her shoulder at the werewolf.

Jenny didn’t even need to mouth the words before Oz shrugged gently. “He’s in surgery,” he said. “No one’s told us anything yet.”

“He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he, Jenny?” Dawn asked, pulling back slightly.

She wanted to say yes, but it wouldn’t do to get the girl’s hopes up only to have something terrible happen. “Dawn, I’m sure the doctors are doing all they can,” she said, sliding her hands down the girl’s arms and squeezing them gently. Jenny fished into her purse, pulling out some money. “I saw a coffee machine on the first floor,” she said. “Would you mind getting Oz and I some coffee?”

Dawn flipped back her hair in a studied manner, rubbing at her eyes. “You’re just trying to get rid of me so you can find out what’s going on without me being upset.”

“Yes, I am,” Jenny said, pressing the bills into Dawn’s hand. “Now go.”

Giving Jenny an irritated look, Dawn sighed heavily, heading for the elevators. Jenny waited until the doors closed behind the girl before turning to Oz. “You’ve really heard nothing?”

Oz flicked his pale eyes towards the nurse’s station. “We came in,” he said, “they told us Riley was in surgery. That’s pretty much it.”

Jenny curled her hands into balls. She really, really hated hospitals. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see what I can find out.” Squaring her shoulders, she started for the nurse’s station. If need be, there was a minor spell or two she could use to sway the woman to give her the information she wanted.

* * * Giles peered into the rear view mirror of his car, barely able to make out Buffy in the back seat. The girl sat staring out the window, her arms folded, her expression distant. Since she’d arrived back at the Hyperion, she’d said very little, only that the battle was coming and that they all needed to return to Sunnydale.

He’d been surprised when Price spoke up. “W-would you like some assistance?”

Buffy had turned to stare blankly at her ex-Watcher. “What?”

“For the apocalypse.” Price waved his hand at his companions. “We have been fighting the good fight together for three years now, Buffy.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor, seemingly fascinated by the marble mosaic there. Finally, just as Giles felt it necessary to speak, she nodded. “Sure. The more the merrier.”

Wesley straightened, glancing at his staff. “We are at your disposal, Buffy,” he said as each of them made a gesture of assent.

“We can’t just leave right now, can we?” Fred asked, her hands moving nervously over each other.

“You understand we’ll need to get some things together, first,” Wesley said, draping a calming arm around Fred’s shoulders and giving her a comforting squeeze. “But we’ll follow before the night is out.”

Buffy had nodded. “Take your time.” The corner of her mouth curled in an approximation of a smile. “We’ve got a couple of days. In Sunnydale, apocalypses only happen on Tuesdays.”

“Sure,” Gunn said, giving the Slayer what might pass for a calm look.

“Giles,” she’d said, ignoring Gunn entirely, “We’re done here.” She turned to her friends. “It’s time to go,” she said, nervous energy sending her almost in a rush towards the door.

“W-wait, Buffy,” Giles had said, reaching out for her. “I-I have some news from Sunnydale.”

Buffy had turned, her blond hair swinging in an arc, her eyes wary already, as if she knew before he even spoke. And Willow and Xander slipped around, ready to offer her comfort as he told her about what had happened to Riley while they were in Los Angeles. Her hands knitted together oddly, her gaze dropping to them and Giles realized suddenly that her engagement ring was gone. A pang shot through him as he realized what offering she’d made to the Oracles. Her friends had tried to reach out, give her physical comfort, but Buffy had halted them both with one raised hand. “The sooner we’re on the road, the sooner we can check on him,” she’d said.

And that was it. An hour ago, they’d piled into the car and set off for Sunnydale. Xander switched the tuner on the radio as another commercial came on, muttering something about how many advertisements were played at night. “Can’t they go fifteen minutes without another one?” He settled the tuner on an oldies station. “Oh, god, the Monkees,” he groaned.

“Leave it,” Giles said, batting his hand away. “We can listen to this music for a little bit.”

“The Monkees are a little old even for you, aren’t they, Giles?” Willow asked from the back seat.

He fixed his glare on her in the mirror but the reflection of it had little effect on the redhead. “I mean, Oz said you had Jimi Hendrix and Jefferson Airplane and the Who in your record collection,” Willow went on.

“I’ll have you know that Jimi Hendrix opened for the Monkees,” Giles said huffily.

Xander’s head swiveled from the radio player to Giles and back again. “Now that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Giles asked, at his most urbane, “Do you even have any idea who Jimi Hendrix is?”

“Sure. He’s the one who sings, ‘Scuse me while I kiss this guy.’” Xander gave an all over body shiver.

“That’s ‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky,’ Xander,” Giles said dryly.

“Oh, sure,” Xander said, folding his arms, “that’s what they say now.”

“No, those are the actual lyrics. I’m sure Willow could look them up on that infernal machine of hers if you don’t believe me.”

Willow bobbed her head in agreement in the mirror. “Sure,” she said. “Any other lyrics you need me to look up?”

Buffy snapped, “I think I’ve seen enough lyrics today.”

The redhead shot her a hurt look but curled into her own corner. Xander halfway turned around, but Giles could see Buffy’s reflected glare, like a basilisk. Xander didn’t stand a chance and retreated to his own portion of the auto.

The radio station didn’t get changed for the duration of the trip.

* * *

Dawn stared blankly at the coffee dispenser. She couldn’t actually remember Oz ever drinking coffee. She wondered if hot chocolate would be more appropriate. She knew how Jenny took her coffee, black, with just a hint of cream. That didn’t seem to be one of the offered selections. She wanted to kick the machine. Maybe hot chocolate all around? Oz did drink hot chocolate. She drank hot chocolate. Jenny ought to, if there wasn’t coffee she’d like. And didn’t Riley complain about the coffee in the machine when they were at the hospital when Mom was sick?

She shoved at her long hair in irritation. She didn’t want to think about Mom, not now. The problem was, the thought wouldn’t go away. The smell of the hospital just brought back that horrible feeling in her stomach, like she wanted to throw up and couldn’t. She remembered touching her mother’s cold skin. She remembered the sound of Buffy panting as she fought with the vampire.

Shaking her head hard, trying to dispel the memories, Dawn concentrated on the machine again. “Hot chocolate,” she said to herself. “We’ll all drink hot chocolate.” Feeding the bills into the proper slot, she punched the button for chocolate, waited for the cup to fill and fed another bill in along with the two quarters left over from the first payment.

“Got enough for me?”

Dawn nearly spilled the first cup at the voice coming over her shoulder. Spinning, she smacked Spike’s chest with her palm. “Don’t do that,” she said.

Spike gave her a lopsided smirk. “Why not? Little fear is good for you. Gets your heart pumping.” He neatly took the styrofoam cup from her and sucked down some of the liquid. “Oh.” His face squinching up, his mobile mouth forming new shapes of disgust, he said, “This stuff is terrible, little bit.” Glancing around, he spotted a trashcan and lobbed the cup into it. “Awful. You weren’t planning on drinking that, were you?”

Dawn stared at the still-swinging lid of the can and sighed. “Yeah, but it’s okay, if it really is that bad.” She took the next cup. “Here. Hold it. Don’t drink it.”

His lip curling, Spike did as he was told, allowing Dawn to buy the third cup of chocolate. “I heard what happened to,” he made an abortive gesture with the hand holding the cup, “Riley.”

Dawn pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, dropping her gaze to the cup in her hand. “It’s really bad, Spike,” she said. “He’s in surgery.” Her head whipped back up as she realized. “How’d you hear?”

He looked beyond her, towards the doorway, out into the night. “On the streets, demons talk, you know? Hear he got beaten pretty bad.”

Dawn blanched. The nurses hadn’t even told her and Oz that much. She wondered if Jenny had managed to find anything out while she was gone. “I guess, I guess I’d better get this back up,” she said. She took the cup Spike held and started off then hesitated, turning back around to the vampire. “Do you know who did this?”

Spike spread his hands, too big for his compact body, Dawn thought. “Nah. I’ll do some nosin’ around for your sis, though.” He flipped his ear. “Keep this to the ground.”

“Thanks, Spike,” Dawn said, giving him a gracious smile. If anyone could find out anything, she had no doubt Spike could do it. “I know Buffy would appreciate it.” She glanced towards the ceiling, not really seeing it. “I hope she gets back from L.A. soon.” She couldn’t voice the “in case” that hung in the air. Shivering, she tightened her grip on the chocolate and started for the elevator. “Do you, uh, wanna come up and wait with us?” Turning, she wasn’t surprised to see that Spike was gone. With a sigh, she continued to the elevator, hitting the button with her elbow.

“Dawn, Dawn! Wait!”

She turned around to see Cordelia trotting along the corridor, her heels making a sharp clicking sound on the linoleum floor. The brunette caught up to her as the elevator opened and they both climbed inside. “Hey, Cordy,” Dawn said, ducking her head a little. “How’d you know?”

“Jenny left a message on the answering machine,” Cordy said, reaching out to squeeze Dawn’s shoulder. “How about you? Are you doing okay? I know Riley’s important to you.”

Something cracked gently at Cordelia’s words and Dawn felt her eyes fill with tears again. Riley was important to her. She loved him. He was funny and smart and sweet and he loved Buffy and her, so much. What other guy would stick around and offer to help raise his fiancé’s sister? She didn’t know any. But Riley was gonna do that.

“Oh, sweetie,” Cordelia said, taking the chocolate from her hands and setting the cups on the floor before pulling Dawn into an embrace, “things’ll work out. You wait and see. I promise.”

* * * The night was meant for driving. The California highway stretched out for miles, ribbons of asphalt with streaks of light and metal racing along its surface. Cruising was a way of life, coasting up and down the roads with friends. Sometimes the drivers actually had a destination in mind, other times, the simple act of getting into a car and driving was its own pleasure.

“It isn’t about the drive,” Michael shouted over the roar of the wind through the windows and the blare of the music. “It’s about the whole driving experience.”

Toad grunted from the passenger seat. He’d earned his nickname from his bulging eyes and huge lips, features that didn’t endear him to the opposite sex. Or for that matter, anyone. Still, he always had money, and was willing to pony up for gas, munchies and booze, an estimable quality in anyone as far as Michael was concerned. Sure, he provided the ride, but it got him out of the house and away from his yelling mother and brooding stepfather, not to mention a chance to show off his car.

Michael was proud of his 1969 Thunderbird, cherry red, with a chain steering wheel and glass pack mufflers. Other than that, and the mag wheels for street racing, it was cherry. Michael had replaced the old AM radio for a CD player first thing; now he had tunes to go with his driving. George Thorogood and the Destroyers blasted out “Bad to the Bone” from the speakers, the heavy bass beat throbbing through the night. The Thunderbird ticked away at ninety-five, the deep growl of the engine reverberating up through Michael’s legs. God, he loved this car.

“Hey, man, slow down,” Toad said, backhanding him lightly on the arm.

“What?” Michael obeyed. Another of Toad’s amazing abilities, aside from having deep pockets, was his unerring skill out picking out cop cars, even in the distance.

“Somebody on the side of the road.” Toad jerked his chin at the windscreen, his big eyes narrowing as much as they could. “Could be car trouble.”

Michael squinted. “Looks like a lot of people,” he said, a little dubious.

“You know any hoods cruising in Beemers?” Toad asked, tilting his head to one side.

Truth be told, the answer to that was no. Besides, Michael was of the belief that karma was a real and living thing and he could make out two girls standing at the back of the car. Michael set his foot on the brake pedal to slow the Thunderbird. It coasted up to the BMW and Michael hit the hazard lights.

Toad was already out the passenger door while Michael was turning off the engine. “Need any help?” he asked, swaggering up to the red convertible.

One of the girls, a redhead, spun around, eyeing Toad carefully. “Help?” she said with studied casualness. “Do we need help, guys?”

An older man popped up on the other side of the BMW, his light colored hair rumpled. He ran a hand through it, messing it up thoroughly. “Ah,” he said, eyeing Michael, then Toad, “we have had a bit of a problem.”

Another guy, the same age as the girls, dark hair, appeared next to the older man. “Flat tire,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “No, let me correct myself before you do it for me. Shredded tire. Tire that will never resurrect--” His eyes widened and he glanced at the blonde, standing a little ways apart from everyone. “Um. I mean, it’s a goner.”

“Yes, I could tell that myself,” the older guy said dryly.

“We can help you change it,” Michael offered, not sure of either man’s ability to even do such an easy task.

“Well,” the older man said.

“That’d be just great.” The dark haired man moved towards the open trunk. “But somebody—and I’m looking at you, Giles—hasn’t checked his spare in a while. It’s not only flat but dry rotted.” His dark eyes met Michael’s, humor flashing there like lightning. “We already tried Fix-A-Flat.”

“So, you call a tow truck yet?” Toad asked.

Giles, the eldest of the four, pursed his lips.

“Go on, tell him,” the other man said.

“Xander,” the redhead chided.

“Come on, Will,” Xander said. He spun back to Toad and Michael. “Someone also forgot to recharge his cell phone.” He glanced at the sky. “So, we’re stuck, in the dark, on a road to Sunnydale, hello, with neither a working phone or a car.”

“We’ll give you a lift,” Michael said, gesturing towards his Thunderbird.

The redhead, Xander and Giles exchanged a long look, with meaningful glances at the blonde, who was ignoring all of it to stare at something off the side of the road. Michael only hoped it wasn’t a carcass of something.

“Sure,” Xander said, nodding. “Sure, we can do that. If you don’t mind.” He and Giles looked at each other again. The redhead chewed her lip, her gaze straying to the blonde. “Right, Buffy?” Xander raised his voice. “We can get a ride into Sunnydale with these two nice human gentlemen, right?”

Toad made a strange little sound, turning to Michael. “Human?”

Michael shrugged loosely. “Maybe she’s little crazy,” he said, keeping his voice low. “She hasn’t said a word yet. Hasn’t even looked at us.”

The blonde spun, almost as if she heard his comment. Her hair swung around her shoulders and her glare raked them both. The hair on Michael’s arms stood up under the force of that expression. Whoever she was, she wasn’t a happy camper. Tossing her mane back, she tilted her chin up, like she was daring him to take a poke at it. “They’re safe,” she said, not taking her eyes off of them.

“Glad she thinks so,” Toad muttered, swallowing hard and shifting his feet.

“Okay, then,” Michael said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll all get in and drive to…where was it you said you needed to go?”

“Sunnydale,” Giles said, sounding more than a little distracted. “A f-friend is at hospital.”

“Hospital?” Michael and Toad exchanged frowns. “Then we’re burning moonlight. Better get a move on, before your friends? Families? Send out a search party.” He swept his hands toward the Thunderbird, gesturing the trio and the blonde to get in. “Someone will have to ride up front,” he said. “The back seat’s big, but not that big.”

“I will,” the blonde said, as if the two words were dredged up from six feet underground. Toad flashed another look at Michael.

“I, um, would like to thank you,” Giles said before the silence lagged too long. “For stopping. I-I would be happy to pay for your fuel.”

Michael swept open the suicide door to the back seat. “Okay, but it isn’t necessary. I’m Michael, by the way and this is Julio.”

“Are you aware your door opens the wrong way?” Xander asked, studying the backwards-opening door.

“Part of the charm of the Thunderbird,” Michael said as Buffy slid into the front seat.

“I’m Willow,” the redhead said. She pointed at the others. “This is Giles and he’s Xander.” Xander grinned in almost cheerfulness and Giles nodded abruptly, his brow creased as he stared at the girl in the front seat. “And Buffy.”

“And thanks again, man,” Xander said, climbing into the back seat, “for stopping.” He scooted all the way across to make room for Willow and Giles. “You don’t know how much you saved our lives. Er.” A nervous chuckle burst from him as the redhead glared.

“Glad to be of service,” Michael said, favoring Buffy with a reasurring grin. She didn’t smile back, just wrapped her hands around each other. Must be someone she cared about in the hospital, he thought. With a mental sigh, he started the engine, the eight cylinders roaring to life. Thorogood blared from the speakers and he hit the volume, reducing it quickly. “My bad,” he said, glancing at his passengers. The trio in the back waved his apologies away and he twisted around, checking to make sure there were no cars in his lane before he pulled out. He brought the Thunderbird up to cruising speed. “Won’t be long now, Buffy.”

Her eyes glittered up at him and flicked away. Toad and Xander discovered their high schools had competed in sports and were discussing, as much as they could remember, various team games. Willow and Giles’ reflections were mirrors of concern, their attention focused on the girl in the front seat. Willow, in particular, seemed jumpy, her fingers toying with the lapel of her jacket, the pendant on her necklace, the fringe of her hair. Buffy seemed oblivious to everything, her head lowered slightly, the only sign of her disturbance the tightening of her hands’ grips on each other.

At one point in the drive, her head lifted, a slow scowl forming. She tracked to the left, her eyes narrowing as a late model car roared up in the passing lane. It held even for a few seconds with the Thunderbird. Michael glanced over into the black convertible, seeing a bunch of people out on a joyride. The driver’s sneer registered as the convertible pulled away. Michael freshened his grip on the steering wheel, forcing himself to raise his right foot off the pedal and not chase the convertible down.

“Man, he just walked away,” Toad said, surprised. “You gonna let them get away with that?”

“We’ve got something else to do,” Michael just managed to keep the snap out of his voice. “Let’s get these folks to the hospital first.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. The trio in the back seat didn’t seem to be paying attention to Toad’s comment but he felt he had to explain anyway. “My car, it’s pretty fast.” He patted the dash affectionately. “Sometimes, we race.”

Buffy’s voice was nearly lost under Thorogood’s “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer.” “Sometimes,” she said, “you just can’t run fast enough.”

* * * “Tell me about Sunnydale.”

Sahjhan glanced at his fellow passenger. “This could make for a long story,” he warned.

Holtz spread his hands. “It seems all I have is time.”

The demon nodded abruptly, quietly delighted that the human had not been taken with the amenities of the limousine. He’d rather explain the Hellmouth than the complexities of power windows.

“Sunnydale sits atop a Hellmouth. It is a mystic convergence to all dimensions, though most of them are not particularly compatible with humans. Many have attempted to control it over the years; most notably a vampire known as Nest who called himself ‘The Master’,” Sahjhan rolled his eyes at the pretentiousness, “and a creature who survived on the Hellmouth for hundreds of years. He posed as the mayor of the city, though he never aged and no one, for reasons unknown, seemed to suspect he was anything other than human.

“Surprisingly, they both attempted to tap into the power of the Hellmouth within the past six years. What is not a surprise was that both were thwarted.” Sahjhan paused, letting that word roll around in his mind. It was perfectly suited to what had happened to both Wilkins and Nest in his own opinion. “Thwarted,” he repeated, “by the Slayer.”

Holtz shifted slightly, one hand reached up to stroke his beard. “You’ve mentioned the Slayer before, a girl chosen to fight vampires.”

“She who stands between all the forces of darkness and the world,” Sahjhan said encouragingly.

Frowning, Holtz shifted uncomfortably. “Why would a girl be chosen, not a man? Men are stronger, better able to think. Their minds are not cluttered with the vapors of a woman.”

Folding his arms, the demon thought his protégé had much to learn about the modern female. “I think you need back story, Holtz,” he said. “Permit me to explain.”

Holtz’s face folded into a peculiar mask of concentration. “Please.”

And so Sahjhan did, of the world inhabited by demons, of mankind’s emergence and inability to face against the stronger masters of the earth. He told about the human spell casters and mages gathering together to pour all their hopes and powers into a successive line of girls, brought forth only to protect the world from the predation of demons. He spoke of the generations of Watchers, the Council formed to guide and train these girls in their sworn duty; the brains behind the girls’ strength.

Holtz listed politely though his dubious expression settled even more firmly into place. When Sahjhan finished speaking, Holtz said, “I still don’t understand. Young girls, fighting demons? Surely a man would be better suited.”

Sahjhan bit back a retort at Holtz’ patriarchal notions. “At the onset of their menses, girls are more developed than young men of the same age. Their reaction times are faster. They are somewhat more biddable than young men in the throes of their hormones. Their aggression is more easily guided and redirected than a young man’s, who feels he must prove himself to the world.” Sahjhan rolled his eyes. “Besides, I’ve yet to meet a male of any species during that time of his life that thinks with his brain and not his reproductive organ.”

Holtz’s eyebrows raised but he settled back into the leather upholstery. “The Slayer,” he said, after a little time had past, “should we contact her about the pack of vampires converging on the Hellmouth?”

“I thought you’d rather destroy the vampire yourself,” Sahjhan said.

“I plan on it.” The man’s teeth showed brightly through the fringe of his beard. “But with her hunting skills she might be an excellent ally.”

“She and her Watcher would not trust the intentions of one such as myself,” Sahjhan said, gesturing at his appearance. “Slayers have a tendency to strike first, question later. Makes them good warriors but a little quick with their trigger fingers. If you believe she could be of use to you, by all means, contact her.” He glanced out the window and continued in a thoughtful tone, “She does destroy vampires. She will destroy those you seek out of hand. They won’t pay for their crimes against you. She will simply eradicate them as she does all their brethren.”

Holtz folded his arms, obviously digesting this information. He wanted to be the one to stop the leader of the vampire pack and his blond mate, Sahjhan knew. It was one of the reasons he’d sought out Holtz and offered to bring him to the current time. The Slayer and Holtz would chase the vampires. The vampires would chase them in turn. It was a continuing cycle and Sahjhan knew how it would end. He just had to make sure the timing was right. If the child wasn’t born, he’d never complete the task of opening the Hellmouth. Still, with the spells cast, it was only a matter of time before the child destroyed its carrier. Sahjhan almost smiled at the serendipity of the vampires leaving L.A. for the Hellmouth. Saved him carting the child there himself.

“So?” he asked Holtz when the man remained silent. “What will you do?”

Meeting Sahjhan’s eyes directly, Holtz said, “What needs to be done.”

* * *

Samael braked the GTX in the middle of the road, the rear of the car slewing slightly. Standing up, he leaned his elbows on the windscreen, taking in the sight of the sign stating in cheerful colors, “Welcome to Sunnydale!” “Well,” he said, “this looks very….”

“Dull?” Penn asked, screwing up his face.

“Boring?” James added, leaning into the front seat to thump Penn’s shoulder.

“Oh, it sings,” Dru said, swaying in the front seat, her eyes half-lidded.

Samael grinned down at her, stroking her hair. “My point exactly, boy. Always listen to your woman.”

Darla scowled at him, huddled into the back seat, her arms crossed over her stomach. She didn’t feel at all well. Surely it couldn’t be something she ate. Samael had hurt her earlier. He’d given leave to Drusilla to play with her. Darla snarled to herself. She had once chased that batty thing over half the continent when Dru had taken off with Spike. Samael had punished both of the wayward children to the point of their actual deaths. Now Dru was the favored one. She watched as Samael sifted his fingers through Drusilla’s dark hair.

“Darla’s being mighty quiet,” Penn said, twisting around to give her a lascivious look.

Baring her teeth at him, Darla growled. “I’m not your woman.”

“Quiet,” Samael said cheerfully, half-turning to look into the back seat. His dark eyes glittered in the light from the streetlamp overhead. Darla sulked, showing him her throat, proclaiming his mastery over her. Penn hooted but said nothing, his glee more obnoxious than words would actually be.

“What are your plans, Samael?” Darla asked when his attention returned to the city in front of them.

Samael dropped back into the driver’s seat. He cocked his head, listening to the engine’s growl. So much power, all under his control. Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, he popped the clutch and the GTX roared down the street. Penn howled his pleasure while Elizabeth shrieked in delight. Dru half-crawled over Penn to hang her hand out of the car, the draperies of her sleeve whipping back from the speed of the car. Her laughter, like silver bells, chimed through the air. “Let’s take a tour of the town,” Samael said over the rush of the wind. “Reconnoiter.”

“And maybe we’ll find my Spike on the way,” Dru said, dropping back into her seat between Penn and Samael, her blue eyes on her sire. “I can track him, my star, find where he is and drag him from that naughty Slayer.”

“Later, Dru,” Samael flicked a lazy grin her way. “But if we come on him, you do have the right to claim him again.”

Dru’s narrow fingers spun together, her smile totally wicked. “Can I punish him? Can I punish him for leaving me?” She drew her knees up under her, nearly bouncing in her excitement. “Can I, my star? Ooo, such good times we’d have, I’d hurt him until the Slayer was burned from his mind.”

He reached over and cupped her cheek briefly. “We’ll see, Dru, we’ll see.” Spinning the GTX around a corner, Samael pressed the gas pedal to the floor, feeling the rumble of the tires on the streets. Oh, it was going to be a good night.

* * * Buffy stared at the imposing edifice of Sunnydale General, hearing as the rest of the gang got out of Michael’s car. Julio of the toad-like face joined her. “This is the place?” he asked.

Giles fiddled with his glasses and tossed a look at Buffy. She ignored him. “We, ah, we need to check in.”

“Do you want us to go with?” Michael asked, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “I mean, we can donate blood, or--”

“Blood.” Willow whipped around to Xander, grabbing at his arm. Her worry communicated itself to her best friend.

“Uh, not to sound really peculiar or anything,” he said. Buffy could feel his eyes brush against her. She shifted but didn’t turn. “Sunnydale’s kinda a rough town. The sort of place where you shouldn’t get out and walk around after dark.” He coughed, it sounded as if Willow had elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow. Um, it’s dangerous.”

“We’ve been in situations before,” Julio said, giving Xander a once-over.

“Probably not like the kind we have.” She could just hear the sarcasm in Xander’s voice and wonder if the others did as well. Squaring her shoulders, Buffy gathered them all with her glance.

“I’m going in,” she said, wondering if it sounded to anyone else as if she was heading for battle.

“Y-yes, of course, Buffy,” Giles said, “we should all go inside. And thank you again, M-Michael, Julio, for the assistance.”

“No trouble,” Michael said and Buffy could tell he meant it. A sharp pain snared in her throat. A part of her wanted to climb back into that car and tell him to drive, just get her out of here. This wasn’t her world. She could disappear; let someone else handle the upcoming end of the universe. But if she did that, people like Michael and his friend would die. They didn’t deserve that, right? Right?

Squeezing her eyes shut to blot all of them out didn’t work, either. She blinked to clear her vision and ducked her head. Her home was gone, her world was gone, her friends were gone, all because someone needed her here to fight a battle that their Slayer wasn’t equipped to handle?

“Buffy?” Giles’ voice was gentle. “Sh-shall we go inside?”

“Sure.” She nodded abruptly and turned to face the pair who’d driven them the last twenty miles into town. “Thanks a lot, guys. I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“We all do,” Willow chimed in, rising to her toes and dropping again.

“Yeah,” Xander said, “I don’t know what we would’ve done out there if you hadn’t stopped.”

Michael’s easy grin was startlingly white in his tanned face. “Someone would’ve stopped eventually.”

“Yeah, but the probabilities of them being nice people are pretty out there,” Xander said with a shake of his head.

“What can I say, we’re good Samaritans,” Michael said. “What goes around, comes around.”

“Ooh,” Willow said, “the law of three. Anything you do comes back to you, threefold.”

Buffy swallowed at the lump in her throat. Save the world three times, get pushed to another one and have to do it all over again. Did it mean she’d have to die one more time, too, to finally be at rest? Finding her voice, she said, “I’m going inside.” The words cracked and screeched but she forced them out and started walking towards the main entrance to the hospital.

She had to steel herself to go through the sliding glass doors. Hospitals never meant anything good, no matter what anyone said. Too much bad spilled out of them, even if they were supposed to be healing. Hospitals didn’t help her mommy, just prolonged her life a little. Buffy bit her lip, that horrid sound of her mother’s ribs cracking under her hands flashing through her memory. Her cousin Celia died in a hospital. Faith…her memory flashed an image of her sister Slayer, bruised and bedridden by her hands. Now Riley was in the same situation.

Giles caught her, stretching his long legs to keep up. “Riley is in the S.I.C.U. ward,” he said, his breath puffing at the exertion. “At least, he was there when last I spoke with Jenny.”

Buffy nodded abruptly, pausing next to an elevator. Willow and Xander caught up before the elevator appeared. “Then I guess we’ll try there first,” she said, watching the numbers show the elevator’s descent.

They got lost twice trying to find the ward before they were told the dark blue lines would lead them to S.I.C.U. Xander’s patter had run out long before then. Willow had offered to do a seek spell but Giles had advised her in his most British tones that it wouldn’t be a good idea. Buffy just walked, trying to block that antiseptic smell and its accompanying bad memories from her mind. It wasn’t exactly working but they finally found their way to the right place. Buffy hesitated as the hall opened up into a waiting room, automatically glancing around. Dawn’s head was pillowed against Cordelia’s shoulder. Oz simply sat, staring down at his black enameled fingernails. Jenny was the one who paced, fairly flickering with nervous energy. She spotted them first, her face lighting with a kind of relief. As she made her way towards them, the others noticed as well and eased themselves out of the uncomfortable chairs.

Giles hugged Jenny close, whispering into her dark hair. Oz gathered Willow to him, rocking her. Xander went to Cordelia and Dawn, draping an arm around either of them. Buffy watched as if it happened behind a pane of glass. They were all together; they’d functioned without her, without their Buffy. They could do this, she thought, and then Xander looked over his shoulder at her and offered her a weak smile and released Dawn. The girl dodged around the couples to fling herself at Buffy, nearly overwhelming her. Buffy closed her eyes against the intrusion though her arms automatically came up to hold her—not hers, damn it!—sister. Her sister was dead in her world and she was here, not with them, not with her Dawn, not with her Willow. Her family, her friends, they were all gone and it wasn’t fair that she was here without them.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry,” Dawn was saying, crying into her shoulder.

She opened her eyes, feeling someone draw close. Jenny’s warm eyes held only sorrow. “Buffy,” she said, holding tightly to Giles.

Buffy nodded, carefully pushing Dawn away, trying hard not to hurt the girl. It wasn’t Dawn’s fault that she’d been pulled into this world. Swallowing, she folded her arms tightly around herself. “What happened?”

“Riley never came back to the house,” Dawn said, her voice clogged with tears.

“Someone found him,” Oz said, his voice careful. “He was attacked.”

“Beaten,” Jenny said, reaching out towards Buffy. Buffy avoided the touch and Jenny’s eyebrows drew down. “He was taken directly to surgery when the ambulance brought him here.”

“Is he…you know,” Xander asked, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“He’s still alive,” Oz said, glancing up at the taller man. “They’re not sure how. He lost a lot of blood.” His pale green eyes flickered towards her again.

“He’s out of surgery,” Jenny said, “Oz managed to get in to see him.”

The young man shrugged. “Can’t you see the family resemblance? They didn’t let me stay long, but I got a good look at the marks on him.” Oz pressed his lips tightly together for an instant then he said, “Buffy, I hate to say this, but he’s got bites all over him.”

She tried to keep from flinching but somehow, she knew it was true. Riley had been attacked, or maybe this Riley had turned to the vampire whores and once they found out he was the Slayer’s fiancé, they turned on him. “So.” She swiped at the strand of hair that fell into her eyes. “How bad?” She glanced from Jenny to Oz to Cordelia and back. Cordelia’s head lowered. Jenny tilted her gaze to her husband.

Oz cleared his throat. “Alive. He’s still out of it, though.”

“How out of it?” Willow asked nervously, plucking at the sleeve of Oz’s bowling shirt.

“He’s unconscious,” Jenny said. She squeezed closer to Giles, her expression concerned. “He was severely beaten, Buffy. He,” her lips pursed and she went on. “They’re not sure if he’ll….”

“They’re not sure if he’ll wake up, Buffy,” Cordelia said. She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

* * * Spike hunched his shoulders as he walked towards Revello Drive, wondering if the Slayer and her little Scooby gang had made it back from L.A. yet. He figured they’d stop by the hospital, check on Riley first. No one would come by and check on him, he knew that. Oh, the Slayer would be by, all bluster and fury that some vampire dared to put teeth into her lover. She’d probably beat him up out of habit and he’d tell her what he’d done, gone out of his way to offer to walk Riley home but the boy shrugged him off. It wasn’t his bloody job to watch over G. I. Joe, after all. The sooner the Slayer knew that, the better.

He puffed out a breath of smoke from his fag, the tendrils riding the air behind him like a comet’s tail. “Even have an alibi,” he said with a sharp laugh, “Willie saw me offer to take Riley home. Make sure he got there okay. Wasn’t my fault he took a poke at me and left me behind when I was howling ‘cause I tried to hit him back.” Of course, he hadn’t howled in pain but with laughter when he’d finished the deed. Nearly ripped country boy’s throat out as many times as he’d bit into it. Vengeance blood was nummy.

What was even more fun was the boy played right into his hands. He needed a distraction for Buffy and that boyfriend, even if she didn’t love him the way she used to, laid up in hospital would do it. Her guilt would be riding her hard, her not being here to protect cornshucks from the big bad night, and he’d be able to use that to his own advantage.

Adjusting the lapels of his duster, Spike glanced each way before crossing the street. Wouldn’t do to get smashed by not taking the proper precautions. He caught sight of a black car, something big and old, racing down the street and spinning around a corner out of sight. Eyebrows lifting, Spike said, “Huh.” There weren’t that many cars dragging around Sunnydale most nights.

Shrugging, he crossed the street, heading for the Slayer’s house. He needed to make sure his story was heard first.

* * *

Buffy stared at the clock across the waiting room. Two hours ago, the nurses had requested them all leave the I.C.U. area. Something about rules of the hospital, that I.C.U. didn’t allow many visitors. Buffy wondered at that. They’d all hung around while her mother was in surgery but maybe that was different. At any rate, they’d all gone to the main lobby. One of the nurses told them that one of them could come back up later to check on Riley. So here they sat, in the main lobby, with cups of machine coffee and wrappers of machine dispensed treats scattered around like offerings to the god of bad snacks. The last time she’d run up to check, the nurse told her that Riley was still resting peacefully. Whatever that meant, since he’d been out of surgery for four hours now.

“Maybe you should go home, get some rest, Buffy,” Giles said.

She blinked. Had he repeated himself? Did he say those exact words a few minutes before? She wasn’t quite sure when she’d stopped listening to everything around her, but she was sure it was a while ago. Was it only last night that Spike confronted her in her bedroom? Had Jenny told them about the prophecy yesterday? Surely it was only a few minutes ago that what’s-his-name, the turncoat attorney said that he’d met Angel.

Buffy squeezed her eyes closed at the thought of him. Lindsey, that was his name, said a vampire, tall, dark, vicious; with Drusilla on his arm, showed up at Wolfram and Hart, unexpected. That a pack of vampires had been waiting for him to appear. That he was the catalyst. Wasn’t that it? And the Oracles agreed that there was a vampire who would play his part with the child born of nothing and the woman back from the dead and the man from the past. No one mentioned anything about the woman’s boyfriend, or one-time boyfriend, laying in a hospital unconscious.

But then, she’d been the only one who believed Angel actually existed until Lindsey blurted out his name.

“Buffy?”

Slowly she raised her head, slouching deeper into the hard chair. The back of her skull dropped against the wall and she stared up at Giles. His mouth was pulled tight and his eyes narrowed in concern. She wished she could tell him not to bother but it was too much of an effort.

“Are you all right?”

Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right. Her friends and family died because she couldn’t go home, because she was needed here. She wanted to go back to the Oracles and scream at them some more. How dare they, whoever ‘they’ were, bring her here? Her place was home, not in some world where things didn’t quite match up to what she knew. She wasn’t supposed to fight and die on her world, then come to a new one and pick up all over again. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. If she had to be brought back from the dead, couldn’t she have gone to her own world?

“Buffy?” Giles’ voice was sharper, cutting into the thoughts that chased each other around her mind. He squatted in front of her, removing his glasses to peer into her face. Buffy let him, meeting his eyes. She wondered if he could see the pain in them. She wondered if he’d care.

“I heard you, Giles.” The words escaped her before she realized it. Turning her face away, she got to her feet, forcing the Watcher to avoid her as she stepped past him. Jenny shot her a concerned look that she ignored. Slowly, she walked a circle of the room, finally pausing near the others. All of them stared at her with varying degrees of interest. “Dawn,” she said, nearly barking out the name, “go home. Xander and Cordelia can take you.”

“Oh, no,” Xander said, rocketing out of his chair, his hands jigging from his intensity. “I’m staying here.”

“I want to stay, too,” Dawn said, flanking Xander. “I want to know what happens to Riley. You let me stay when Mom was sick.”

“That was different,” Buffy said.

“No it isn’t.” Dawn folded her arms, flinging back her hair in a movement that would make Cordy proud. “Riley’s family.”

Buffy sighed, chewing her lower lip. She eyed the rest of the Scoobies. None of them seemed willing to leave. Willow was gnawing on her lower lip, shooting glances around at the others. Buffy knew if she confronted her, Willow would argue that she was needed. And Oz wouldn’t go if Willow didn’t. Cordelia might be willing to leave, she and Riley…well, Buffy wasn’t sure how well they got along. She ought to be able to coax Xander to leave and take Dawn home but Queen C had her jaw set and her eyes blazed. No go on that one.

That left Giles and Jenny. Buffy knew better than to argue with either of them. Jenny would insist that they’d stay for Dawn, for support, whatever. Buffy just knew it. And Giles, well, Giles was too worried about his Slayer to leave her alone.

“All right,” she said, the words tearing from her throat, “everybody stays. At least until we find out what’s going to happen to Riley.” Slumping back into her chair, Buffy folded her arms around herself.

They all took seats again, Dawn flopping down and leaning on her, a solid weight of warmth against her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Riley,” she whispered in Buffy’s ear.

“Yeah. So am I.” Her fingers moved involuntarily over the place where the engagement ring no longer was. Guilt struck. What if it was an heirloom? What if Riley’s mother had sent it from Iowa in one of those gift boxes Riley loved so much, full of Pride of Iowa cookies and those funny pink candies made in Sioux City, what were they, Twin Bings? What if it had been passed down from his grandparents?

Dawn didn’t miss a thing. “Buffy, did you lose your ring?” Her voice rang out through the waiting room, catching everyone’s attention and focusing it right back on the Slayer.

Cringing under the force of all those eyes, Buffy nodded then said hesitantly, “Not really lost. I…the Oracles expected a gift. It-it was the only thing….”

“Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry,” Willow said, reaching over to her. “I know what that ring meant to you.”

She dropped her head. “Yeah.”

“Well, we’ll just have to go back to L.A. and storm those Oracles’ castle,” Xander said eagerly. “I mean, after taking on the Master and Adam, what’s a few, um, whatever they are?” He sank back into his chair. “What are they, exactly?”

“P-perhaps you should tell us what the Oracles said to you, Buffy,” Giles said gently, settling into the chair across from her.

She twisted out a shrug. “I’d rather wait, until everyone gets here. I don’t really want to have to tell it twice.”

“Everyone gets here?” Cordelia’s voice rose. “Who’s everyone?”

“Buff invited Wes’ team to be part of the fun, honey,” Xander said.

“Wesley? Wesley’s coming here?” Cordelia rolled her eyes expressively. “What good does he think he can do?”

“He has a seer and some very good fighters on his team,” Giles said, “and I can’t believe I just defended Wesley Wyndham-Price.” Jenny patted his forearm in a consolatory manner. “At any rate, they will be arriving shortly. And one of the team has met…er, faced might be a better word, one of the main participants of the upcoming battle.”

“That’s news,” Oz said. “Anyone we can do research on?”

Giles fixed Buffy with the force of his stare. “I’m afraid we already have and turned up nothing.”

Buffy spread her hands, her smile brittle. “He met someone who doesn’t exist. He met a vampire who called himself Angel.”

* * * Lindsey heaved a duffle full of weapons into the back of his truck as Fred checked off her list. Gunn’s truck was similarly loaded. They’d decided to only use the two vehicles though Lindsey wondered if someone wouldn’t change her mind before they actually left L.A. He couldn’t really see Kate riding with him, nor could he imagine that she or Gunn would willingly allow Fred, Wes or Doyle in his vehicle, either. It was an interesting corundum. They didn’t trust him and they were the warriors. Leaving any of their, well, was weaker a proper term, he wondered, companions alone with him, without protection had to be driving them nuts. He wouldn’t be surprised if Kate ran off to get her car and claim that Wolfram and Hart might be able to get one or two of them but not all if they took different vehicles.

“Well,” Wesley said, appearing at Lindsey’s side, a stack of books in his arms. “Where might these go?”

Lindsey took half of them. His truck had an open bed—no way was he going to ruin the classic lines of it with a topper—and there wouldn’t be that much room in the cab. “Too bad you don’t have a bag for these, too.”

“We have one,” Fred chirped, happy to be of use, and she scampered back into the hotel.

Wesley stared after her, then set the books into the bed of the truck with a sigh. “I am wondering at the advisability of taking Fred with us on this little jaunt. She only recently returned from Pylea.”

“From what I hear,” Lindsey put his stack of books on top of Wes’, “she did pretty good over there.” He clapped a hand on Wesley’s back, nearly staggering him. “She’ll do fine.”

“She’s not exactly a fighter,” Wesley said worriedly, adjusting his glasses, knocked askew by Lindsey’s exuberance.

“So? Keep her on the back lines. Let her come up with tactics.” Lindsey leaned back against the side panel. “Leaving her here isn’t a good idea, Wes and you know it. Wolfram and Hart might take an interest in looking her up. Those vampires would make short work of her.” He folded his arms. “That pack…you’ve heard of them. You know how vicious they are.”

“Yes, except for the one you called Angel.”

“Trust me, Wes. He ranks up there.” Shrugging, he said, “Took a lot out of your Slayer, to hear that name.” He wondered at that. She seemed more affected by that name than by the threat of the vampire or the pack. “Any idea about that?”

“Too many,” Wesley said, his mouth pinching into a thin line.

“Not going to share?”

Frustrated, Wesley said, “I’m not sure how much there is to share. Buffy is not our Buffy; she was brought here from another dimension. In the dimension she’s from, there was a vampire whom was her lover, a vampire with a soul, named Angel.” His blue eyes narrowed sharply. “How do you think you would feel, if one whom you had trusted, loved even, became someone else?”

He wondered what Wolfram and Hart would pay for that information. A Slayer brought forth from another dimension? Shaking his head, Lindsey sighed. “Wesley, I’m an attorney. I don’t trust anyone. And I’m used to people not trusting me.”

“Surely, at one point in your life,” Wesley began.

Fred skipped up abruptly, holding an open duffle. “Found something for the books so they won’t fly away,” she said proudly.

“Thank you, Fred,” Wesley said. “Maybe you could assist Lindsey in placing the books inside. I have…there are a few more things I’d like to gather to take with us.”

“Don’t take your time,” Kate said, passing him as she carried another loaded duffle to the curb. “Moonlight’s wasting.”

* * *

“What do you think they meant, the town’s dangerous?” Toad asked, peering out the window of the passenger door at the passing scenery.

Michael shrugged. “Looks pretty average to me. Nice houses, great lawns,” he whistled, lawns meant money in California. The bills for water alone could bankrupt some people. “Quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Toad said, his pendulous lower lip shoved out. “I only saw that one club in town.”

“It isn’t big, that’s for certain,” Michael said, swinging the Thunderbird around a corner. “Let’s fill up and get on the road for L.A.”

It took a little doing, finding an open gas station at night. Michael was beginning to think they were a rare species in this town when Toad managed to spot a brilliant light off to the right. Circling the block, they found a convenience store, strangely enough, nowhere near the highway off ramps. After filling the Thunderbird’s tank and loading up on snacks for the ride home, Michael pointed the nose of his car towards the interstate.

“It’s been a slow night, huh?” Toad asked around his microwave burrito.

“Aside from our good deed, yeah.” Michael forced himself to remember that it was a good thing they stoppped and helped those people, even if he did possibly miss out on a race with that old convertible. Besides, that Giles guy had paid for the trip, even when he tried to wave it off.

“Kindness should be rewarded,” he’d said, handing a twenty over with an implacable expression. Reluctanctly, Michael had accepted the money, though Giles had then repeated what Xander’d said earlier, about the town being more dangerous than it looked and it would be best if they got back on the highway and went home.

A stoplight flicked over to red and Michael touched the brake pedal, easing the big car to a halt. The speakers rang out with the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses,” Jagger wailing they couldn’t drag him away. The sound distorted with a heavy rumbling and Toad slewed his head around, his eyes popping wide.

“Mikey, it’s that car,” he said, an evil grin spreading across his face.

Michael glanced out his window as the car pulled up alongside them. Partiers, he thought again, three girls, three guys, out for a drive. One of the women, the brunette in the front seat, smiled toothily over the passenger at Michael. He nodded back.

“Nice car,” he said.

The stocky man in the passenger seat tossed a haughty grin. “We like it,” he said.

“Does it run?”

The stocky man turned his attention to the driver. The driver leaned forward a little, meeting Michael’s eyes, his smile slow and lazy. “I think so.” His gaze raked the Thunderbird. “Didn’t we pass you on the highway?”

The insult was blatant. “Only because we were helping someone,” Michael said.

The men in the car laughed, the brunette joining in. One of the women in the back seat folded her arms up and glared a hole in the skull of the driver. “Are you helping anyone now?” the driver asked, his voice as deliberate as his smile.

“Just myself to your wallet,” Michael bragged.

The brunette chirped in delight. “A race,” she said, clasping her hands together. “With prizes!”

The driver stroked her hair indulgently though his gaze never left Michael. “There’s a street, two blocks over. Runs east-west. We’ll drop off our passengers and you and I’ll…race.”

“Just lead the way,” Michael said, feeling the familiar tingle in his hands.

“He plans on it,” the beefy guy laughed, thumping his palm on the convertible’s side panel. The light changed and the black car took off.

“Man, what is that thing?” Toad asked, eyeing the car in front of them.

“I think it’s an old Plymouth,” Michael said.

“You gonna win?”

His teeth flashed as Michael said, “Gonna smoke ‘em down.” He pulled up next to the convertible and Toad climbed out, slamming the door. “Watch out for yourself.”

Toad gestured at the people climbing out of the black car. “All the pretty ladies, I’ll be in good company while you race.”

“The blonde doesn’t look happy,” Michael said, nodding at the woman who argued with the driver.

“Maybe she just needs a change in scenery.”

“Ambitious, aren’t you?”

Toad winked. “Gotta keep myself entertained somehow while you race.” Pulling out of the window, he sauntered over to the others. The two men welcomed him with handshakes and backslapping. The brunette oozed up on a pair of high heels that should’ve given her a nosebleed. The arguing blonde gave up, pulling herself away from the convertible and the others.

The other blonde ambled over to lean into Michael’s window. “He asked if you’re ready,” she said, hooking a thumb towards the convertible.

“Just looking at that stoplight,” Michael said.

“Afraid of a little light?” The blonde wound a strand of his hair around her forefinger.

“More worried that my car would get t-boned.”

“Don’t worry. No one travels this road.” Her fingers slid along the back of his neck and he wondered at their chill. It wasn’t that cold of a night. “Are you ready?”

Michael glanced from the stoplight, gleaming green, back to the blonde. “Willing and able.”

The blonde laughed. “I like your enthusiasm,” she said, edging closer. “I think you’d fit in with us.” She nipped his ear and slithered out of the window before he could react. With a saucy wave, she joined the others, lacing her arms around the thinner of the two men. He kissed her soundly and they both turned to watch the proceedings as the bulky man walked between the two rumbling cars.

“There’s a loop towards the end of the road,” he said, loud enough that Michael could hear him. “Once around the loop and back. Elizabeth? Wanna start us off?”

The flirtatious blonde flounced away from her boyfriend, stepping up to the stocky man. Reaching the front of the cars, she raised her arms. “Ready?” she shouted over the roar of the engines.

Michael revved his motor, feeling the vibrations through the steering wheel. The CD switched over to “Paint It Black” and the music pooled around him, trapped by the noise of the engine.

“Steady,” Elizabeth sang out, her fingers drumming on the air.

The Plymouth growled like a thunderstorm. Michael could hear it even over the sound of his own car. A trickle of sweat rolled down his spine.

“Go!”

Michael popped the clutch and the Thunderbird screamed down the street, the convertible pacing it. They sped through the light and towards the loop at the end of the road.

* * *

On Buffy’s second trip to the I.C.U., a nurse took pity on her. “Fifteen minutes,” one said, tapping her watch face for emphasis. “And be sure to talk to him.”

“Talk?” Buffy blinked at her.

“Just because he’s unconscious doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.” She smiled at Buffy. “It might help to know he’s got something to wake up for.” Buffy swallowed down the retort that formed in her mouth and entered the room.

The first thing that struck her, aside from that particular hospital smell was the silence. Oh, there were sounds, hums and beeps and a peculiar shushing noise. But those were all mechanical. Not natural. Not like voices or snoring, even. Buffy walked carefully across the floor, her spine feeling as if it were made of ice. She pulled a chair over to Riley’s bedside, wincing at the awful scraping sound it made as she dragged it. Dropping into the chair, she laced her fingers together, feeling that space where the engagement ring wasn’t.

Fifteen minutes. Right.

She couldn’t even force herself to look at him directly. She kept stealing glances at him, seeing him as puzzle she had to fit back together.

Wrist, in cast. Blink.

Head, shaved. Bandage wrapped around it. Blink.

Eyes, blackened. Blink.

Nose, broken. Blink.

More bandages peeping out from under the blanket pulled up to his ribs. Blink.

Fingers braced against one another, pins sticking out of their tips. Bandages wrapped around all of it. Blink

A tube, running from the chest bandages with red fluid dripping through it.

Buffy focused on his hand, the one closest to her. Some sort of sensor was wrapped around his index finger. A memory popped into her head, of Riley telling her he’d flicked off a football player in his high school chemistry class when the teacher wasn’t looking and the football player swearing at him, out loud. Riley had said the teacher hauled the jock out of the classroom and that he’d paid later that day on the football field. Buffy had laughed along with him but really hadn’t gotten it. Riley thought it was funny and Graham, whom he’d been telling the story to, slapped Riley’s shoulder and called him a dog. They’d both laughed, Buffy joining in politely, though she’d thought at the time there was a part of Riley’s life she’d never understand.

He didn’t really talk about his past around her specifically. If the guys were around—his, not the Scoobies—they’d get into bragging matches about high school football or basketball teams; about racing cars down highways and back roads in the middle of the night, about girls they’d dated or bedded. Riley was polite enough to leave out the girls when Buffy was around, though she knew he’d dated his school’s prom queen for two years. He’d shown her his yearbook photos.

“What happened there?” she’d asked when he told her about it. “Is she still in Iowa, waiting for you to come back?”

Riley had stroked her hair, tugging gently on the ends. When he did that, it always made her scalp tingle in this incredible way. She wondered then if he’d learned that from the prom queen. “Not unless she wants to give up living in New York and flying all over the world. I’d say she’s happy being a stewardess.”

Buffy glanced up at his face, nearly unrecognizable after the beating. Stitches clung to his neck over wounds Buffy knew all too well. She turned her attention back to his hand and sighed. “They, I mean, the nurse, she said you might hear me. That I should talk to you. But I don’t know what to say.” She laid her hand on top of his, careful of the I.V. tube.

“You always said you’d take me to Iowa, back to Spirit Lake, remember?” She paused. “We laughed. Spirit Lake sounds way spookier than Sunnydale.” Licking her lips, Buffy went on. “Giles is gonna call your commanding officer. They’ll probably,” her voice petered out. Buffy had no idea what the military would do. Would they take Riley away? Surely he wasn’t well enough to move. Would they fly his parents in from Iowa? They’d expect to see her, wouldn’t they? And she so didn’t have time for that, not with the end of the world. “Anyway, um, we’ll call your parents, too. I’ll bet your Mom will send you those Bings candies you love. And we’ll…we’ll all go on a picnic when you’re feeling better. Out in the sun. No monsters or—or anything.” She chanced a glimpse at his face again and jerked her gaze away, trying to fix it on their hands.

“Oh. I—I forgot to tell you,” she said, her voice soft. “I lost the engagement ring you gave me. It, um,” she caught her lower lip in her teeth and sighed before going on. “I saw some people today and they wanted payment for the information they gave me. There wasn’t anything else I could give them, Riley. Not money or blood. Just that. I’m sorry.” She sniffed, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. She’d failed Riley in this universe, like she’d failed Riley in her own. “I’ll bet you’ll hate me when you wake up.”

“Maybe he won’t.” The voice was achingly familiar, rich and low. “I know I wouldn’t.”

Buffy jerked upright, nearly out of the chair, staring around the room. “A-Angel?” The thought sickened her that maybe Lindsey’s vampire had somehow managed to track her down, had made his way here, to Riley’s room, where she had no weapons except herself. “Is that you?” There, a shadow, a dark pooling of not-light. She readied for the attack.

“Come with me, Buffy.” The shadow whisked out the door, barely moving the curtains dividing the room.

She stared at where it had been and, with a backwards glance, stole out of the room. Carefully pulling the door closed behind her, she turned—

\--and nearly stumbled over the rock right in front of her. Frowning, who’d put a rock in a hospital hallway; anyway, Buffy spotted the shadow, disappearing into a cleft in a rock face ahead of her. Jogging, she reached the face, laying her hands on the warm red stone. She panted, peering into the cleft. Was she supposed to follow him through here? With a cautious glance around, Buffy slipped into the crevasse.

Inside it was dark and cool, though not so dark that she couldn’t see the walls of stone around her. She walked carefully, wishing again that she had some sort of weapon. Somehow, she knew this was not where she was supposed to be.

“Are you sure?”

Buffy stared down at the dog walking beside her, a lovely Golden Retriever that was more red than gold. “I’m sorry,” she said, her sense of humor rising inexplicably, “did you say something?”

The dog rolled its warm eyes up at her. “Of course I did,” it said—she said, Buffy realized, in Willow’s voice. As the cave widened, the dog swept in front of her abruptly, sitting down in front of her and raising a paw. “Don’t be afraid, Buffy. This is important.”

“Yeah, it’s the only way we could get through to you.”

Buffy stumbled backwards, hearing Xander’s voice coming from…an otter? “Okay, this is just getting really freaksome,” she said, wondering how she could get out of this dream.

The otter balanced on his hind legs and tail, whiskers wriggling. “I told you she wouldn’t believe this, Will.”

“Shh, you’re not supposed to use my name!”

“Dear lord, enough arguing.”

“Giles?” Buffy swung around, spotting a blob of orange fur blending into the wall way too well for her nerves. “You’re a monkey?”

“An orangutan,” the monkey said in Giles’ most huffy voice. “The old man of the jungle.”

“Uh, huh.” Buffy wondered if she really had gone crazy. “I think I’ll be going now.”

Willow the dog scooted in front of her, blocking her path back out of the crevasse. “No! I mean, Buffy, we went through a lot of trouble to get you here, to get us here.” Her head cocked to one side, her ears lifting and lowering, her tail wagging slowly. “Please? At least hear us out.”

“I can just imagine what Freud would say about this.”

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” Xander the otter quoted.

“Cute.” Buffy glared at him, then the orangutan and flung up her hands in defeat. “Okay. So you got me here. What is it you need to tell me? I already know you’re all…” her breath hitched. “You know.”

“We’re not completely dead,” Willow said.

“Yeah, there are the mirror us-es.” Xander undulated up to her and stood on his hind legs again, leaning a paw against her knee. “They aren’t bad, are they?”

Buffy squatted down to be on eye level with him. “They aren’t you,” she whispered, afraid her voice would crack.

“Buffy,” Giles the orangutan said, moving towards her, “there are things you do not know.”

“Not more prophesies, Giles, I can’t deal with that sort of thing right now!” She rose to her feet, stomping past Willow.

“Nevertheless, you shall want to hear these.”

Wiping her eyes, she didn’t bother turning around. “Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Because they could help you.”

She did spin at the sound of his voice, staring at the puddle of black sitting next to Giles, the shadow that had led her from Riley’s room, a huge cat with eyes that she would recognize anywhere. “Angel? Why—why are you all here?”

“We couldn’t let you give up the fight, could we?” Xander asked.

“But,” Buffy took a tentative step back, her hand reaching out of its own volition to touch the cheek of the panther. “But you aren’t you.” He rubbed into her palm, eyes slitting closed, a slow, rumbling purr rising from his chest. “You’re all animals.”

“Spirit totems,” Giles corrected as she collapsed in front of him. “The wheres and whyfores are something you don’t need to concern yourself with.”

“Oh, good.” Buffy stared dazedly at each of them. “Who else is here? Dawn? Mom? Oz?”

“Just us,” Xander said, nuzzling her, his stiff whiskers tickling her skin.

“But that is beside the point,” Giles said. His long fingers drew something in the red sand she sat on. “You cannot give up hope, Buffy. We’re here to remind you that.”

“Why?” She dropped her hand into Willow’s fur and listened to the retriever’s tail thump affectionately. “This isn’t my world. I don’t want to fight for them. It’s because of them that I’m not with you now.”

“But you are with us,” Willow said, laying her chin on Buffy’s thigh and rolling her eyes up.

“She’s not you, Willow. She brought me back to the wrong place. I should be with you, all of you.” She spat out the words as if they would corrode her mouth. “You all died because I was brought back to life here. Do you think I could ever forgive them that?”

“We have,” Angel said.

“Well I haven’t, okay?” Buffy wanted to climb to her feet and yell at the panther but the weight of the dog—Willow—and the otter—Xander—on her forced her to stay put. “I can’t! It’s my life that’s screwed up! Mine! I’m not where I belong, I’m in some screwed up world where their Buffy wasn’t strong enough to face the big bad!”

“We know,” Giles said soothingly. His shrewd monkey eyes met hers. “And it does hurt us, to know that we’re separated. But we’re also together.”

“Don’t tell me, they’re you and you are them,” Buffy snapped. “Xander already tried the ‘I am the walrus’ speech.”

“It’s true, Buffy. She is me,” Willow said, nudging her hand. “Maybe less powerful as a witch, not in love with Tara, but she’s me. I’m a reflection of her. All of us are just reflections, like the Oracles said.”

“You’re screwing with my brain,” Buffy said, slapping her palms over her ears. “I won’t listen. I can’t hear this.”

“You need to, Buffy, if you expect to survive.” Angel’s voice made it past the barricade.

“I don’t want to survive,” she said, choking on tears, “All I want is to be with you.”

The animals looked from one to the other. Angel leaned closer, rubbing his velvet cheek against hers. “You are. Always.”

She looped an arm around his neck and sobbed, feeling the others draw nearer, a hairy arm around her back, a warm, sinuous weight in her lap, a tongue lapping at her tears. “Buffy,” Giles said, “I know this is hard for you. Harder than anything you’ve ever faced. But they…we are with you.”

“What kind of pity party is this?”

They all broke apart, Buffy landing on her backside as the animals scattered. She stared up into a face she knew too well, a face twisted into something like amusement. “You,” she breathed.

“Did someone forget my invitation?” Angelus smiled, leaning down to chuck her under the chin. “Cause I hate to miss a celebration.”

“Don’t touch her,” the cat snarled, swiping at Angelus’ hand. The demon jerked back, blood welling from four scratches.

“Temper, temper, pussy cat,” Angelus said, licking the blood away. “I’m not gonna hurt our girl.” His grin, if anything, got broader. “Yet.”

“Stay away from her.” Xander leaped between Buffy and Angelus. “I beat you once, I can do it again.”

“Ooh, cause I’m just so afraid of an extended rat,” Angelus sneered.

“Back off!” Willow barked.

“Guys, this is my battle,” Buffy said, pushing to her feet. “Get out of the way.”

“See? Even she knows it’s just gonna boil down to the two of us.”

Giles flung sand into Angelus’ eyes. The demon screamed, pawing at his face. “Not if I can help it,” he said. “Buffy, leave, now! He knows we’ve spoken to you. It’ll make it that more dangerous for you to stay.”

“But--”

“Go!” Angel roared, leaping onto the vampire, taking him to the ground. Buffy stood still, staring as the floor erupted into a war zone, inhuman sounds rising from the crimson dust that hid too much from her view.

“No! I can’t leave you!”

“It isn’t your choice to make, Buffy,” Giles shouted from somewhere within the red cloud. “Go now, before he breaks free!”

“Buffy, run!” A glimpse of a face, Willow’s true face, appeared. “Remember, we love you!”

“I love you,” Buffy cried back, spinning on suddenly weak legs and racing towards the entrance to the crevasse. It was like running in a nightmare, she didn’t seem to move and the violence of the battle behind her didn’t dim. She half-expected Angelus to suddenly grab her shoulder and wrench her back around. Somehow, she made it to the exit, shading her eyes from the sunlight that poured into the opening. Carefully stepping outside, she blinked. Something huge and glowing was just ahead of her.

A fire whipped into a spiral, shooting towards the sky. It covered the entire landscape in front of her, devouring massive logs in its hunger. Buffy squinted, making out something in the flames. It glowed white hot, gold, that strange blue that only fires put off. It shimmered and shivered with the flames licking around it. “Slayer,” the fire said, or sang, she wasn’t quite sure which. “Slayer.”

“This is a trick,” she shouted at it. “One of his tricks!”

“Slayer,” the fire sang again. “Become born again in the blaze.”

“No!” She shook her head. “I won’t!”

The inferno roared at her rejection, licking out at her with flames that somehow smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood. Buffy batted at them, trying to fight them off. “No! Stay away!”

One brushed against her shoulder and she flung herself away, crashing into the rock face. “No!”

“Ma’am, you have to leave now.” The voice was stern, unrecognizable.

Buffy lowered her arms from their defensive posture, staring into the stern face of a nurse. The sterile world of the hospital fell into place and she nearly dropped from displacement shock. “There…there was a fire,” she mumbled.

“You were dreaming,” the nurse said sharply. “And flailing around. You could have harmed Mr. Finn.”

She swallowed, peeping at him. He looked the same, none the worse for her nightmare. “I’m sorry.”

“You have to leave. Your fifteen minutes are up,” the nurse said firmly. She herded Buffy out of the room, not even allowing a backwards glance. Once at the nurses’ station, she softened. “You should go home, try to sleep. It would be better for you than staying the night here.”

****

Buffy nodded in defeat. Slowly, she made her way back to the main lobby, noting that no one had left. Giles started to his feet as soon as he saw her, Willow and Xander getting up and coming over, too. “Buffy,” Giles said warmly and she could hear an echo of his voice in her dream, “how is Riley?”

“Still unconscious,” Buffy said, nearly in a whisper. “I talked to him a little.” She tilted her head to meet the blue eyes of her Watcher. “But I had a dream.”

“A dream?” He pulled back a little, his brows knitting together.

“What kind of dream?” Willow asked.

“My fr—you were all in it,” Buffy said, her tongue twisting. “Except you were,” she screwed up her face in memory, “totem animals? You were an orangutan, Giles, and Willow a dog.”

“A dog?” Willow asked, disappointed.

“What was I?” Xander asked, shoving his hands into his back pockets and leaning closer. “Something really strong and cool, right?”

“An otter.”

Xander’s face fell as Giles, peering at her, said, “Yes, well. Do you think it might have been a prophetic dream?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Buffy said. “I…they…you said some things. About the battle. And then, he, Angelus, showed up and you all fought him for me. You told me to run. So I did. And…there was a fire, a really big fire, singing ‘Slayer’ over and over.”

“A fire?” Giles pushed his glasses up his nose. “A singing fire?”

Buffy sagged and Xander caught her around the waist. “Whoa, there, Buff. Don’t you go fainting on us.”

“We should get you home,” Willow said as the others drew near in concern. “You’re probably exhausted.”

“Come on, Buffy,” Dawn said, worming her way under Buffy’s arm. “It’s time to go home. We’ll come back and see Riley tomorrow.”

She allowed Dawn and Xander to guide her to the parking lot and into Oz’s van. “I’ll make sure they get home safely, Giles,” Oz said.

“Thank you, Oz,” Giles said, his voice muffled as the door closed, shutting out the rest of the world.

Willow took shotgun, turning around to meet Buffy’s eyes levelly. There was something there, almost hidden in the blue-grey of that gaze, something familiar, like a whisper of a friendly ghost in an old house. “A dog?” she asked again.

A feeling bubbled up inside her, one she hadn’t felt in far too long. “A smart dog,” Buffy assured her. “Like the one on the Bush’s Baked Beans commercials. A Golden Retriever.”

“Huh?” Dawn asked, scrunching up her face, looking from one woman to the other.

Oz climbed into the van and slammed the door. “Ladies, your beds await.” Starting the engine, he glanced in the mirror. “Everything okay back there?”

“Yep,” Dawn said, “except Buffy and Will are talking in some weird dog code.” She folded her arms and pouted.

“Dog code?” Shaking his head, Oz backed the van out and followed the taillights to the other two cars leaving the hospital parking lot.

“Ooh, maybe you’re gonna get me a dog?” Dawn asked, bouncing in her seat.

“Highly doubtful,” Buffy said. “Puppies and slayage don’t mix well.”

“But I want a dog,” Dawn said wheedling.

“I wanted a pony and I never got one of those,” Buffy reminded.

The stoplight ahead of them flicked from amber to red and Oz started braking the van. Cordelia’s car vanished under the light. No surprise there, Queen C was still a speed demon at heart.

“Dogs are easier to take care of than ponies,” Dawn argued. “They don’t take up much room.”

“They still cost money, which we don’t have.”

The light changed to green and Oz started the van across. Buffy shouted, “Oz, no!” as headlights bored down from her side of the van. The vehicle jerked to a stop as two cars flew across the intersection. Dawn tracked them out her window, her mouth dropping open.

“They could’ve killed us!” Willow said, staring after the cars.

“Everybody okay?” Oz asked.

“What’s going on?” Buffy leaned over Dawn’s shoulder, seeing the two cars slew to a stop about two blocks away. “Hey, Will, isn’t that Michael’s car?”

“Who’s Michael?” Dawn asked. “Is he that guy who gave you the ride to the hospital? Xander was talking about his car.”

“Oz,” Buffy said, ignoring her sister’s questions, “drive down there.”

“What’s going on, Buffy?” Willow asked as Oz followed Buffy’s order.

“Something,” she said, her body almost humming with a sudden tension. “Do we have weapons?”

“Behind your seat, in that big chest,” Oz said and Buffy unhooked her seatbelt and dove over the seat, letting Dawn’s questions fill the interior of the van. Pulling out a couple of stakes, she leaned over the seatback to thrust one of the crossbows into Willow’s hands. Picking up another weapon, she gave it to Dawn. She found the quarrels for the weapons and handed those over, too.

“Are you letting me fight?” Dawn asked eagerly.

“That’s for Oz,” Buffy said sharply and when her sister opened her mouth to protest, went on. “Dawn, no matter what happens, stay in the van. Willow and Oz will protect you.”

“But, Buffy,” Dawn began.

“Listen to me, Dawn. Stay here.” Buffy stared her down then, when Dawn nodded her reluctant agreement with her sister’s command, Buffy turned her attention to Willow and Oz. “Stay sharp.”

“Okay, Buffy,” Willow said, looking up from loading her crossbow. “But be careful.”

She nodded abruptly and climbed over the seat again, sliding open the door. Oz slewed the van sideways, blocking the road and Buffy leaped out, rolling across the asphalt. Getting to her feet, she made sure she still had her stakes and ran towards the two cars at the end of the street. Her heart thundered in her ears, her gut tugged its warning that there were definitely vampires ahead. “Michael! Julio!” she shouted. “Get out of here!”

The young man turned towards her and one of the vampires pounced, lifting him off the ground and burying its teeth in Julio’ss neck. Buffy swallowed a curse and raced towards the two cars. Another vampire hauled Michael out of the Thunderbird. The young man didn’t have time to scream before his life drained down a vampire’s throat. Buffy could hear Dawn’s shriek behind her but forced down the desire to turn, to comfort. Her feet pounded along the hardtop and she ran up the back of the red car, flinging herself off the room and onto the vampire feasting on Michael.

They rolled, Buffy managing to land on top of a corpse-vampire-Slayer sandwich. Jerking her stake, she thrust it home into the blond vampire’s back. Tumbling away, she heard the familiar wail as the vampire turned to dust. A screech alerted her and she tried to avoid the kick aimed at her stomach. She caught it on her ribs, hearing a snap. Rolling again, Buffy scrambled to her feet, pressing her elbow against her side to provide support, stake held ready in the other hand.

“You killed James,” the vampire sobbed.

“Don’t worry,” Buffy said, “you won’t miss him for long.”

The vampire charged in, swinging wildly. Her claws caught in Buffy’s hair and yanked. Buffy punched her in the face twice, not able to get the right angle to stake her. The vampire twisted a leg around Buffy’s knee and jerked. As the Slayer fell, a clump of her hair ripped out. Wincing, Buffy managed to kick the vampire in the stomach, sending her reeling back. Snapping to her feet again, Buffy waited for the next charge.

“Do something, do something,” Dawn moaned, her face pressed up against the windowpane.

Willow aimed the crossbow out the window, sighting along the barrel. “That’s it,” she said, releasing the safety. “Just stand there.” She squeezed the trigger and the bolt shot out, catching the stocky vampire as he turned. He roared his surprise as he turned to dust, alerting the rest of the vampires that the Slayer wasn’t the only person they had to worry about. “Oops,” Willow said, frowning a little, “I think I got their attention.”

“Hang on,” Oz said, climbing half out of his window and firing his own crossbow. It struck the second blonde vampire in the shoulder. She snarled at them, striding towards the van. “Now they know we’re a threat.”

“Is it me or does that vampire look a little weird?” Dawn asked Willow, who was rapidly reloading her weapon.

“Not now, Dawn,” Willow said.

Dawn turned back to the window and shrieked as the blonde snarled at her. Grabbing the cross on the seat next to her, Dawn thrust it at the glass, sending the blonde back. Oz slithered through the window into the driver's seat, revving the engine and laying on the horn. "Did Buffy hear?" he asked, twisting around to look past Willow.

"Little busy right now," Willow said, splashing the vampire with holy water. The blonde cried out in pain, her skin smoking where the drops struck. Bolting, she raced away from the van, disappearing into a line of trees.

The pair of vampires standing next to the convertible simply stared at the battle, looking for all the world like spectators at a sporting event.

"What are they waiting for?" Oz asked, turning the van to face the battle. He watched as Buffy took an uppercut on her chin, her head snapping back.

“I don’t care as long as they stay there,” Willow said, leaning out of the window to sight her target.

“Be careful, Willow,” Dawn whispered.

“Diana guide my flight,” Willow chanted softly, stroking her fingers along the bolt. She closed her eyes briefly then opened them, tracking the blonde with Buffy. The Slayer fell back from the onslaught and Willow spoke, as if directly in her friend’s ear. “Duck.”

Buffy dropped to the ground and the crossbow twanged, sending the bolt flying. There was a howl above her and dust showered down on her head. Pushing up to her hands and knees, she faced the three remaining vampires, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You just don’t learn, do you,” she said, slowly walking onto the asphalt. “Sunnydale’s off limits to vampires.”

One of the vampires peeled off from the other, the pale light darkening her scarlet dress to nearly black. “It’s her, my star. The Slayer.”

“Drusilla,” Buffy said, stretching her arms behind her back, palming her second stake. “Come back to pick up your little Spike?” She tilted her head to one side. “And you brought friends.” Smiling coldly, she said, “Didn’t do you much good, did it? Just like the song says, three of ‘em are already blowin’ in the wind.” As if she’d called it, a breeze whipped her loose hair into her face.

The male vampire pushed off the hood of the car. The gust caught his duster and his ponytail as he crossed in front of the vehicle. Buffy’s stomach lurched, nearly throwing itself out her throat. The vampire paused, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, legs apart, one shoulder a little higher than the other, but only if you looked closely. Her heart tripped and shuddered as a little smile crossed the vampire’s face.

“Hello, Slayer,” he said, his voice a rough purr.

She tilted her chin up; daring him to cross the distance, take his punch. “Hello, Angel. Things just weren’t the same without you.”


End file.
